To Be a Puddle

An Icy Winter Day

2012-02-05T16:07:00.000-08:00

Outside the icy rain is pelting down turning the world into a slick, silver wonderland: beautiful but treacherous. This is no weather for riding a bicycle unless you have studded tires and are young enough to recover from falls more quickly than you do when you are my age. It is a good day to cuddle inside with a book and a cup of tea and a blanket as soft as snow but as warm as fire to match my burning forehead. If I have to be ill, and I am, it is a good day for it. There is no guilt for not braving the cold on foot or on bicycle and finding winters frozen splendor. It was not the predicted weather either, and I think of Adrienne Rich's poem, "Storm Warnings:"

"The glass has been falling all the afternoon,
And knowing better than the instrument
What winds are walking overhead,
what zone Of grey unrest is moving across the land,
I leave the book upon a pillowed chair."

How grateful I am to those few teachers that showed me the beauty of words, their ability to evoke and identify emotions and to reveal the beauty that is sometimes hidden in the world. I suppose they opened my eyes to something that my heart already knew. All I really know is that I go back into that world at times, and it nurtures me.

Yesterday was to be the BMB ride, a tribute ride to those first Mad Dogs that braved the cold and the disapproval from those cyclists that put their bikes up at the end of October until spring arrived. While it was canceled, I think of the implications it had for winter riding in this area. It has blossomed. Yes, some people still put their bikes up for the winter, and there is nothing wrong with that. Absence may make the riding sweeter when the earth once again gives birth and greenness riots. But many people now ride all year, regardless of weather, and there is nothing wrong with that either. That is one of the wonderful things about bicycling, that it is so many different things to different people.
And it has given me things to dream about now when I go rest my guiltless head.

The Christmas Girdle or the Pounds of Christmas

2012-01-14T11:23:00.000-08:00

The holidays have passed, and took along with them my physical fitness. Ugh. I have gained weight, and it drags on me, lead like, anchoring me firmly to earth. My steps sound and feel heavier throughout the day. Effort robs me of breath more easily and gives me a new appreciation of breathing and of the exquisite value of air. I find myself eating despite the fact that I have no true hunger: eating because it tastes good, eating because it pacifies me, eating because of stress at work, eating because it is there. The sad part is that I am eating without the appreciation of food that a good ride can bring and without the appetite that a good ride can bring. One of the marvelous gifts that riding gives us is the genuine appetite that is an exquisite garnish to the food we eat, making the need to replenish our body with fuel a delight. Food just tastes better when you have earned the right to it and when your body truly needs it to meet the tasks that are being asked of it.

When I finally get together with others for the "Orleans: The Back Way century," I find that I have company in my food musings. Lynn Roberts talks of finding himself with a handful of almonds he doesn't really want. Mark Rougeux talks of the holiday weight gain. While everyone looks thinner than me, I suppose they too struggle. So perhaps it is not all will power and perhaps it is not just me and a character weakness, perhaps it is just one of those annoying things that is part of being human. Even so, hills that normally come easily seem more like mountains than hills when you are dragging five to ten extra pounds up them and the legs have weakened from the lack of training miles. In winter when it is cold and windy it is just too easy to say no to a ride. Inertia and indolence tease me as a well fed cat taunts a mouse, paralyzing it into inaction. I grow weak, and I know I must fight this. "How soon 'not now' becomes 'never." (Martin Luther)

It is a genial group of eight riders that gather to ride to Orleans, all on singles except for Jody Patterson and Steve Maurer who are on their tandem. I feel for them as I struggle up the early climb on the not so aptly named Flatewood Road. I have never ridden a tandem and I suspect I would find it very disconcerting to ride one, trusting and giving up control, but I have been told that hills are even more of a challenge on a tandem than on a single bike and I have no reason to disbelieve this assertion. And this hill is a challenge, however doable, on this particular day at this particular time. Later I will tell others that this ride was "fun," but in the midst of a hill I wonder why.

Sometimes I believe there is something a tad off about cyclists and their obsession with hills. Is it not odd to seek out such pain and to even take perverse pleasure in it? But, oh, what satisfaction when you reach the summit or when you climb the same hill at another time and realize that it took little effort, that all your hard work, sweat, and pain paid off and what was a mountain is now a mere molehill. There have been times when I find myself thinking that there is a bad hill on a road only to realize I have already climbed it and not noticed. And I have found the scenery on hilly routes eclipses that of flat land beauty. This is certainly true on Flateland Road with the occasional vista where you can see the land sprawled out below you for miles now that the sentinel trees have discarded their leafy covering leaving bare the landscape.

I think momentarily of hilly triumphs such as the first time I made it up Fire Tower Hill, and of how I felt like Lance must have felt winning the tour, jubilant and proud and invincible. I got to repeat this victory twice: once on my triple and once on my double. I think of my failure at Cobb Hill, walking to the top, defeated, only to find Tim Carroll there (who made it up the darn hill with his double while I failed with my triple) waiting at the top with a fistful of wildflowers and a welcoming smile on his face. I could not ruin his victory with my disgust with myself, and soon I was laughing and joking. Perhaps I will make it up Cobb Hill on another day when it isn't 95 degrees out and I don't have 100 or more hilly miles on my legs. For those of you who don't know Cobb Hill but do know the Fire Tower Hill, Fire Tower Hill is a mere bump in the road compared to Cobb Hill. I think of hills I have cursed and hills I have serenaded, each special in its own way. I think of how I like the challenge of a good hill, and how cycling brings out the best in us as we throw ourselves against the wall until we succeed. How very many victories I avoided in my fear of failure before I understood that our failures also give our lives color and flavor. And by the time those thoughts have passed, we are on the flat farmlands surrounding Orleans.

Orleans is a small town, one I had not heard of prior to my cycling days. It is probably not the best choice for someone who has Christmas pounds to lose because it has one of the most inimitable small restaurants. Though I don't believe I have ever had the same dish there twice, each has been remarkable. Today I pick the pulled pork barbecue, and I am not disappointed. My taste buds yell "hoorah" and I appreciate the need for food for the first time in awhile. I am grateful not having to worry about every little calorie and how I am going over the daily limit calorie limit I have set for myself in my attempt to regain a waistline. Of course, it does not help when Dave King asked Jody and me how many calories are in a bag of chips. Jody asks if he knows that most of the small bags are really considered to be two servings. Dave tells us he means one of the big bags. Jody and I share a grimace of disgust. How can such a skinny person eat an entire bag of chips?

I am glad for the leisurely pace back to the ride start. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the wind is at our backs, and the company is congenial, a mix of personalities that somehow meshes and provides camaraderie. It just doesn't get much better than this, particularly in January. A mistake in the cue sheet takes everyone by surprise, but it is easily remedied and all is forgiven as it might not be if the weather were not so kind this day. And there is payback for the hills. At one point I hit a bump that leaves me soaring through the air, defying gravity, no wheels on the ground, and for one glorious moment I am gloriously flying. The same bump leaves Jody glad for being clipped in as she left her seat, hovering in the air. Not so long after that there is the two mile downhill near the end of the ride that winds through a forest and where one day on a solo ride I spotted two small Amish boys braving the descent on roller blades. It is a good day on the bike, and I am thankful. Winter days often are not so kind, particularly on those who have become slackers. And perhaps I lost a little bit of my Christmas Girdle;-)

Bethlehem

2012-01-04T13:58:00.000-08:00

While the sun shows promise of shining brightly all day in a cloudless, blue sky, it promises no warmth, a cruel mockery of the hot and demanding sun of summer. Like the strange transformation that occasionally happens when something huge happens and a person you thought you knew turns into a stranger right before your very eyes, sometimes it is hard to believe it is the same star. It is cold outside this morning, and a part of me wishes I had not signed up to captain a ride. It would be nice to fix a cup of coffee and laze about the house in pajamas for awhile. But it is December, and my December rides are a tradition: Puddle's Christmas Breakfast Century and the Bethlehem Century. The Christmas Century last week-end went well and drew a record crowd due the unseasonably warm weather. But will anyone show for Bethlehem when it is in the teens outside and the weatherman says it will not get much warmer?

With the current economic woes and talk of shutting down small, rural post offices, it is likely that this will be the last year for mailing Christmas cards from Bethlehem, Indiana. The thought saddens me and hardens my resolve to ride despite the cold even if nobody else shows. I would not want to miss this last opportunity. As so many first times are special, last times are perhaps more so, maybe because so very often we do not know that they are the last time. Sometimes I think about what my last ride will be like and whether my riding will end from age, injury, or indolence. Will I know ahead of time, or will it just stop without my suspecting it is ending, like the memory I have of my mother telling me I had gotten to big to be rocked and read to before bedtime and to get up those stairs or suffer the consequence. I will miss the solace of the wind caressing my face and the feel of the road and the companionship of the people I call friends. I will miss the sound and feel of rain on my helmet and the feel of the sun mercilessly beating down upon me and the myriad sights that bring me such delight. And I will miss Bethlehem. I mustn't let cold weather force me to miss an opportunity unless the weather threatens worse than today, a day that turns out to be spectacular for riding.

In 2010 I rode Bethlehem alone the day before it was scheduled as snow was predicted for the scheduled day and I needed to get my December Century in. It is no big deal, this mailing of Christmas cards so that they have a Bethlehem stamp. I wonder how many people even notice. But still I relish this tradition of sending love, thoughts, and best wishes in the form of a card. Perhaps it is the memory of my mother, sitting instead of working around the house for once, addressing stacks of Christmas cards to friends and family, wishing them happiness throughout the holiday and in the coming New Year that makes this so special to me. Perhaps it is just because it is part of Christmas, and I love Christmas. There are few things better than the thought of the house being full of family, the smell of pine mixing with the smell of freshly baked cookies caressing us while music and gentle laughter wafts softly throughout the house. There is nothing better than the thought of snuggling together to watch the traditional shows that delighted me as a child, a delight I passed on to my children. There is not much in life better than Christmas despite the sadness that can suffuse the holiday season at times. I love the traditions, the traditions that were established by those that came before me and have been combined with those that I created for my family. So many people fail to recognize the importance of traditions. And the Bethlehem ride has become one of my newer traditions since the children grew up and left home, a tradition that prepares me for their sweet return, however transient.

"Spiritual and religious traditions, when shaped by the feminine principle, affirm the cyclical phases of our lives and the wisdom each phase brings, the sacredness of our bodies and the body of the Earth." Patrick Wynn

My fears of nobody showing are unfounded. Perhaps it is a fear that haunts all ride captains. And it has happened to me before. Not often, but once or twice. I don't know why I even worry about it. It doesn't hurt or mark me in any way. It doesn't mean that I am a "bad" ride captain or that nobody likes me or that nobody likes my route. But it is my nature to worry, thus one of my children's moniker for me: mother hen. Mark Rougeux, John Larson, Steve Rice, and Jim Whaley show up to ride the century. Three others that I do not know show for the 60 mile route. We have a good day, or at least I did. Despite the varying cycling abilities, the century riders stay together for most of the ride and nobody seems to mind my laggardly pace. It always surprises me how patiently people moderate their pace for me at times. Steve Rice even gets to see Santa Claus, a sight the rest of us miss. But then, that is the thing about Santa: he is magical and comes and goes unseen. By the time people read this, he will have disappeared for another year leaving only memories of the traditions that I cherish iced with the people that I love and are important to me. This is the true gift of Christmas: the memories.

2011-12-03T16:57:00.000-08:00

"Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it - every, every minute?" Thornton Wilder

The farmers neatly shave the soybean fields scuttling non-stop to prepare for the coming winter. There is no lush greenness left here but a dull, monotonous brown. A sepia tint begins to cover the earth robbing it of all but man made vibrancy. There is no time for idleness yet. Much needs to be accomplished before winter blasts the fields, barns, and houses claiming them in her frigid embrace. So many farmers have other jobs now to make ends meet, and farming in this area is now a side occupation requiring the use vacation days. They do not complain: they do what needs to be done. The harvest is mostly gathered, but for every minute there is a chore that must be completed. Fences are mended and barns and silos filled in preparation for the earth's slumber. There will be time to sit in the easy chair in front of a blazing fire and dream of the coming spring and birth, the completion of the cycle, but that time is not yet here.

The cacophonous chorus of insects in spring and summer softens to a murmur heard only in isolated places, and bird calls are few and far between. Silence becomes a theme. As I ride along, I realize that in a sense I have come to define the seasons by the landscape and my feelings from the seat of a bicycle.

Before Eddie Doerr moved, he told me that one thing that bothered him about this area was that he had grown to know all the roads, every pot hold and curve, and there is some truth in that; but I have come to find that in many important ways he is wrong. Every day brings changes, however minute: perhaps it is we who become inured to our surroundings, like the archetypical husband who comes home from a bad day at work drained and causes a tear rather than a smile when he fails to notice a new hair cut or a new outfit or some other small thing meant to please. The fault, perhaps, lies in us rather than in this world we inhabit. Could we stand the constancy of wonder? Albert Einstein once said, "There are two ways to live. You can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle." Do we really see with our eyes? Every day brings changes, and even the dulling landscape has its beauty. I grieve for how much I miss, for my inability to appreciate all the small changes.

In this season of giving thanks, may every ride on your bicycle be filled with beauty and wonder. There are those that cannot ride, and there are those that cannot see. There are those that can't hear the impending silence because their world is always silent. Rather than cursing the impending gloom of winter, may we embrace it as it will give us an appreciation of the other seasons that we experience on our bicycles. May we take notice of the way the sun dances on the frost causing it to sparkle like thousands of diamonds laid along our path, or the way the trees become sharper silhouettes against the winter sky. My we appreciate the feel of a warm jacket as the cold air slashes around us, angry at not being able to enter our very core. May we notice the way winter enhances the smells of the world making them crisper. The day will come for each of us when we can no longer ride our bicycles: may it be later rather than sooner. And may the memories that you are making now make you smile. May you realize life "every, every minute."

Paris Brest Paris 2011

2011-10-09T02:54:00.000-07:00

"Sure I am this day we are masters of our fate, that the task which has been set before us is not above our strength; that its pangs and toils are not beyond our endurance. As long as we have faith in our own cause and an unconquerable will to win, victory will not be denied us." Winston Churchill

Finally I am on my way to Paris, France. The long months of training and waiting are finished. I will either succeed or fail, and there is not much I can do at this late date to tilt the scales either way.   I am determined to succeed, to be victorious, but I hope I have the inner fortitude to accept failure if it should happen. As much as I hate to admit it, some things are out of my control.

Traveling stresses me to no end as it is so unfamiliar to me. Vacations were postponed to save for college expenses when the children were small with only the occasional week-end foray into different neighboring states. Now my chicks are grown, and for the most part what I earn is my own and there is a world to explore. Being a social worker I am not highly paid, but I am a saver. For the first time, I book a flight on line and print my own boarding pass. In 2007 when I attended PBP, I traveled through Claus and his travel agency, Desperes, but his schedule is not the schedule that I hope to have this time. In 2007 some people had to spend the entire first day in the airport waiting for the bus to the motel. Unlike my wondrous daughter who is the soul of patience and understanding and still takes my breath away as she did when I first gazed in awe upon her tiny face and held her to my breast to suckle knowing that my life was somehow irrevocably changed, somehow more than what it was before, I am impatient with waiting and an entire day in an airport would seem an eternity.

I briefly ponder my daughter recently thanking me for teaching her how to wait. Can a person teach something that they don't possess? She is beautiful in her waiting, unseasoned wisdom and patience in her eyes. During the flight I wonder if there will ever be a man wise enough to see through those thorns and pluck the rose that is encased within or if she will spend her life alone. But it is her life and she must live it to suit herself and not her mother. As the Graham Nash song says, "And in the end remember it's with you that you have to live." What a different life I would have lived if I had lived the life my mother envisioned for me. Despite the fact she wanted only the best for me our definitions of what is best vary drastically: I think I would have been very unhappy.

One of my saddest moments of PBP 2007 was seeing Dave and Steve leave for their plane the day after the event knowing that I had to stay an extra night when I did not feel well enough to do much of anything and knew nobody to commiserate with or with whom to share tales. The glow of successfully completing the course had faded and and while I nursed a nugget of satisfaction in my core, I was left with an all encompassing fatigue such as I had not known before. I would much rather have my extra day in France prior to the event rather than stay an extra day when I know that every fiber of my being will suffer exhaustion and will long for my husband, the home of my heart, and for my little stone house and the lure of the familiar. For a moment I wonder what madness possessed me to return to ride this ride again: 2007 was so difficult.

But this year I will not have to wait after the event, only before, but still there is stress. The packing up the bike and worrying that it will get there and not be broken, the trying to get work in order so that things will run smoothly while I am gone, the trying to get my house in order, the packing of suitcases and hoping that I will have the right clothing for the weather, the wandering through airports and trying to find where I need to be, the necessity of having different currency, the anxiety of being unable to speak the language and to ask questions of those around me, and the nervousness of finding my way hold me momentarily captive despite the fact I have traveled the same flights as Dave King, despite the fact Steve Rice has assured me that Bill Pustow and he will be there with a taxi when we leave the plane. At heart I believe I must be quite the coward, and I wonder that anyone tolerates me.

I think that this stress is good for me though, that it is a form of living death to become too comfortable with one's existence, that perhaps people quit growing when this happens. Growing and changing is not always a comfortable experience. In fact, change is normally decidedly uncomfortable. It humbles me to think how much of this world is foreign to me. Complacency, perhaps, has a cost. I realize yet again that I treasure these friends who encourage me to overcome my fears and weaknesses and become a bit more than what I was before. What a blessing it is to have friends. Not everyone has a friend, and certainly everyone does not have friends like these. How very sad that is. These friends were the very ones who first encouraged me to take a chance at conquering an event like PBP, a 1200 kilometer bicycle event that must be completed within a 90 hour time limit. I puzzle over whether they know how I cherish them, these men who allow me to share the roads with them without asking for or expecting things that I cannot give them. Sometimes I don't quite know why they are my friends as I am not particularly clever or beautiful or talented, but I have come to accept that it is enough that they are my friends. "One doesn't know, till one is a bit at odds with the world, how much one's friends who believe in one rather generously, mean to one." (D.H. Lawrence).   Perhaps the love of distance and the bike is what bonds us? I wonder sometimes that the sport does not draw more women, and my friend, Greg Smith, another friend who encouraged me, has discussed this with me. Whatever the reason, the man to woman ratio from the USA this year is somewhere around 12 women to 100 men, and most of the people I normally ride with are male. I have female friends that I love dearly, but few of them ride a bicycle.

The ride to the motel, the Campagnile in St. Quentin en Yvelines, wakens us as the driver recklessly brakes in tunnels, swerves out of his lane, and misses other cars by inches. To come this far and be injured not on the bike, but in a car accident, seems too cruel to imagine. The right side of the van shows the signs of previous crashes, silver creases deeply etched in the white paint. Still the taxi fit four bicycles and numerous suitcases and four riders as well as the driver and it is heading in the right direction. All is said when we reach the motel and Steve Rice looks at me and says he wishes that I had been driving for I am the archetypical female driver; I am among the worst of the world's drivers, and his words tell me just how bad the driving looked from the front passenger seat. Before his comment, I thought perhaps it was my imagination. Still, we have arrived and are safe and it is time to assemble the bicycles.

Originally Steve was going to help me pack my bike as it has been four years since I last packed a bicycle and that was with his help, but my husband wants me to go with him to pick peaches prior to leaving and I cannot deny him or myself that pleasure knowing that I will be leaving him alone for 10 days and understanding the sacrifices we have made to get here. So often he does not feel well enough to do things any more, and it is delightful to spend some time together with this man that I love, generously laughing and holding hands, carrying the bushel baskets overflowing with peaches, and sharing the memories that are our life. I know I will remember this day and hold it dear, the smell of fresh peaches and the warmth of the morning sun will mingle with memories of his dear face, the arms that have held and protected me through happiness and sorrow. I will remember that this man has loved me and supported me when I am most unlovable and flawed. That memory will be worth more than any bicycle or bicycle ride. If my bike is packed correctly fine, and if not I will be fine: disappointed but fine.

Now, however, I have to unpack a bike that may or may not have been properly packed and figure out how to make it whole. While I love to ride bikes, having a good grasp of how they work and how to fix them when they don't work is not my forte. I try to visualize the correct order to put things back together hoping I will only need to ask for help with the pedals, and mostly I am able to get everything where it belongs. Steve Rice graciously helps with the rest. Despite the fact we are a day earlier than in 2007, there are still other bike cases scattered in front of the hotel with their owners working diligently to get them back together. Tomorrow will be our trip to Paris by bike, the only pre-ride I will do other than the ride into the bike check prior to the start of the event. Briefly I take a short ride and all seems to be working. I park my bike in the bike room within the hotel and check into my room eager to wash off the smell of travel.

After a good nights sleep (I was quite happy I brought my own pillow from home), I go down to breakfast. the petit dejeuner.. The breakfast room has changed since 2007, but not the delicious fare. There are all manner of pastries and breads, crepes and cereal, jambon and fromage (ham and cheese, some of the most useful of french words), and all manner of delightful tastes and textures. I try the coffee, but as I remember it is quite strong and slaps you across the face. Unlike my friend Steve Royse who loves this fierce coffee, I prefer to ease into morning gradually with weaker coffee. Bill is already eating and encourages me to try the coffee au lait. While I am not very adventurous with foods, I decide to try it and find that I like the taste; I like it a lot. It reminds me of the year we lived in England when I was 9, getting sick and Cliffy asking if I wanted warm milk. I assumed she meant hot chocolate, but such was not the case. She literally meant warm milk. But they do have hot chocolate here as well, a drink the French appear to appreciate as much as I do.

After breakfast, we meet to test our bicycles and ride into Paris. Dave, Bill, and I all have on club jerseys. They are wearing the red captains jersey and I am wearing my yellow jersey. It is the first time I have worn the jersey since winning it a few years ago. The fleur de lis on the jerseys briefly makes me think of the connection between France and Louisville, something I had not considered before. If I remember correctly, the fleur de lis was a symbol of the Plantagenets representing faith, wisdom and chivalry. I let the thought go when I cannot think of a Plantagenet named Louis. Perhaps Geoffrey? Perhaps I am wrong in my association. So many things that I do not know, and not enough life, mind, or time left to learn them.

I think of 2007 and miss Joe Camp and Steve Royse. Joe did not come this year and Steve is not arriving until today, too late to join us. Soon into the ride, I realize that my steering does not seem quite right. I can't determine if this is because of riding with the carradice, or if I put it together incorrectly. Still it is not significant enough to stop and try to fix at this point and we continue toward Paris passing Versailles. Around us are countless people on bicycles: men in suits and women in dresses heading toward work. Many carry a back pack slung over their shoulders. There are rows of bicycles on the curbs that people can rent. At least I assume they are for rent. Momentarily I imagine a city where there are bicycles freely available to all. Bike lanes rule, but everyone seems to make allowances for bicycles whether they are in the bike lane or whether there is a bike lane or not. Indeed, some streets run the bike lane down the middle of the road with curb protection on each side and their own little set of traffic lights with a bicycle in the middle of the light that work to allow pedestrians to cross the bike path. Even as we make our way around the round about at the Arc de Triomphe, cars seem to yield to the cyclist melting out of my way at the last moment when I think a crash is surely inevitable. Bicycles are just so accepted here, a part of life rather than an anomaly.

In places the streets are still ancient cobblestone and our bikes rattle and groan protesting that they are not mountain bikes but road bikes. It is a good way to test your bike and to be sure that nothing is lose,but this may be taking it to extremes. I find my bike is not shifting correctly and is jumping gears behind. I will have to decide whether to try to fix it myself, locate a bike shop, or plan on having it fixed at a control. I remember Tom Armstrong telling us in bicycle repair class to turn the little knob one quarter turn at a time, yet I can't remember for sure which way he suggested trying first. But I will deal with that later. For now I am enjoying my ride through this city.

In 2007 our Paris bicycle trip was more about passing the tourist sights, but this year though we do pass Notre Dame, the Louvre, and the Eiffel Tower, it is more about seeing different bicycle shops. It feels different. I relax and let go of 2007. Experiences just never can be duplicated, so they have to be appreciated on their own merits. A few shops are closed and Bill, who lived in Europe for a number of years during his working years, explains that in Europe people close shops for extended periods of time while they are on vacation. We finally reach the shop of Alex Singer and it is closed; however, there is no vacation sign on the door and the grill over the front door is up so we determine the store may be closed for lunch. We decide to get our own lunch. We find a place that serves the traditional ham and cheese on a baguette. Sitting on the curb experiencing the marvel of this sandwich, I wonder why the taste cannot be duplicated at home in the United States; but it has not been or if it has been I have not yet found the shop. Kind of like croissants: they have them at home but the texture lacks the rich flakiness of the french croissants. And there is real butter everywhere, rich and creamy: not the pale imitation spreads I have at home. We eat and then return to the Singer shop. The bicycle in the window lures me and I spend a minute or two admiring the beauty and being glad that there are people in this world who can create such art. How fulfilling it must be to be able to combine usefulness with beauty. I will dream of this green bicycle as a starving man dreams of food. What a greedy girl I am wanting yet another bicycle. Two other people are waiting on their bicycles, and soon the shop person arrives by bicycle and opens the shop so we can look inside.

When we return to the motel, Steve Royse and Steve Wyatt have arrived and are putting their bicycles together. It appears that this year there was no waiting at the airport. There are smiles and hugs and stories of past rides floating through the air. Those with the internet will be endlessly checking weather predictions for the next couple of days before the ride starts as if it really matters for we will ride regardless. The only thing the weather prediction affects is what I will lug with me on my bike, and I will be taking everything I reasonably "might" need anyway because weather is fickle. Still it feels weird to be without access to the internet or a telephone. Everyone is comparing the prices they paid to ship their bicycles, and there does not appear to be any consistency even within the same airline.

Mainly, other than an evening trip in by train to Paris for dinner, the remainder of the time before the event will be spent eating and resting. The guys will remember the mussels swimming in "stinky" cheese and beer from the trip, but I will remember the sound of our footsteps as we walk through the darkening streets with history popping up everywhere and the soft chatter and laughter of friends caressing me and holding me close. I will remember the warmth of the smiles and the hum of people around me saying things that I do not understand but wish I did. I will remember the ice creams we bought that were scooped into cones so that the ice cream looked like an open rose, and how the beauty of the presentation made it taste much better than it might have otherwise. Oh, I am such a girl. The guys would laugh sometimes if they knew my true thoughts on such things. It is not often I share. I try not to be a bother.

Before you know it Saturday arrives and it is time to take our bikes for inspection and registration. It is required that you show your lights and back up lights and your reflective gear. I have my new RUSA vest that meets the French requirements, but I also have purchased another that I hope is a bit smaller. I worry briefly about the vest I have and whether it will be too hot, but later it turns out to be perfect for the weather. Bill, Dave, Steve, and I ride over and I try to memorize my way back to the motel so that I don't get lost if I finish alone. While I have made progress in dealing with it, I have a fear of getting lost that is a constant battle for me where intellect battles emotion. It is an irrational fear and I have no idea what terrible thing I think might happen if I lose my way, but there you go: that is why fears are often irrational as they make no sense. Emotions just are. It is not a good fear for a randonneur, but as I once told my friend, Grasshopper, if you ride long enough you eventually come out somewhere, and I have found that I can ride a long way when necessary or desired. It makes no sense that I have no dread of riding this entire event alone, but I don't.

My bike makes it through inspection with no problems, and it is time to go through registration. I have wrapped my lights in plastic not trusting the e-delux due to numerous on-line tales of failure and Steve Rice's lights failure in one of the qualifying brevets. Following the ride, Jeff Bauer tells me his light failed during the ride. The registration line is short and moves quickly, and directly I am given the numbers for my bicycle and my helmet. It is not as impressive as it was in 2007 when there was a table that obviously was for each individual country, but it is efficient. With the rain in 2007, everything was moved indoors and there were no outside booths as there were this year. There is also a neck pouch and my brevet card included in the package. I will use this pouch to carry my passport and brevet card the entire ride, slipping it inside my jersey or jacket except when I am having the card signed. This time RUSA has also supplied a nifty little name tag for your bike with your name and USA designation. The young lady helping me explains that I need to fill in medical and emergency information on my brevet card prior to the event. Last time I stupidly forgot to do that, but this time I manage to remember when I return to the hotel.

Unlike 2007, there seem to be fewer booths to tempt my pocket book, but I do end up buying a jersey, a rain cap, and a tee shirt. I am spending money like I have it, but it is fun and a luxury I don't normally allow myself. Earlier this week I haunted the shops and bought gifts for my family: chocolate for the men and lace scarves for the ladies. There are all sort of bicycles here, many with ingenious inventions to meet the riders needs. One rider had modified a tennis racket to make a rack for the back of his bicycle that was lightweight but would hold what he needed to carry. The ingenuity astounds me. My husband worked for a few days inventing a device to keep my handlebar bag from touching my front wheel. The guys will make fun of it saying it is a phallic symbol and will later decorate it with a red knob on the front, but it works and it was built with love.

After registration we easily pedal back to the motel passing cyclists that are on their way to a later registration time. We each attach our numbers to our bicycles and to our helmets. Initially I attach mine over the cables, so I have to remove the number and redo it. Duh! Drop bags have to be prepared and taken to the trucks and I have to pack my carradice and handlebar bag with those things I will carry with me on my adventure. Each drop bag contains a change of clothing, a towel, spare tubes, a folding tire, and gels and energy bars. My first PBP I did not use any gels or energy bars, but I have vowed to ride more smartly this time, and part of that is better nutrition and not becoming so depleted. I make a trip to the ATM to make sure I have enough money to carry me through as I know of no place to stop on the ride to get more. When we later take the drop bags to the trucks, I take note of a Subway as I know I will need some type of nourishment to take to the start as it is at dinner time and most stores in France still close on Sundays, like the United States when I was a child. Suitcases will need to be ready for check out and stored in the luggage room once it is no longer the bicycle room. And then I must rest.

But before resting, I need to decide what to take with me. My handlebar bag is for food. In my carradice I pack clothing and tools. I have a wool undershirt, arm warmers, leg warmers, wool gloves, and an extra pair of gloves that are water resistant. I have my rain jacket. I have spare tubes and a spare folding tire. I have medications and personal care items such as a toothbrush and toothpaste and floss. Before you know it, I have about what feels to be about fifteen to twenty extra pounds of stuff to cart up and down the rolling hills that are PBP. I try to whittle the weight: each item is carefully examined and thought about. It is no use. I will be more comfortable toting it all than I will be not having it if I need it. The only thing I leave behind that I originally packed was a wind vest, and that is because the reflective vest seems as if it will be warm. I realize too well how cold can debilitate you, sapping your will to succeed and sapping your strength until you are shriveled and wanting. I know from other longer rides that no matter how I prepare or what I carry, there will be times when all I want is to throw my hands up, white flag flying, and I know from the past that I will fight this giving in with all of my being. It is a physical and mental scrimmage: cold will not be only thing I contend with on this ride. I also have brought a cheap camelbak to wear until the first stop at mile 87 and then discard. If I were faster, I would take much less; but I am not so very fast.

I am surprised by my ability to sleep the night before the start. Often I suffer insomnia the night before an event. When I was doing triathlons, my husband would chide me for racing the tri the night before. Eventually I got it under control the majority of the time. Maybe I am becoming comfortable enough with distance bicycle rides that insomnia will now be a thing of the past. Despite my reluctance to use any drug, I did use melatonin for the first time when arriving in Paris to help with the jet lag. Perhaps that is the reason. Perhaps it is from being in Paris late (for me) the previous evening or just the luck of the draw, I find sleep easily and I let him claim me, wrap his arms around me, surrendering completely to halcyon oblivion. And then it is Sunday. The strain is evident from the moment I come down to breakfast. I can hear it in voices and see it in the nervous movements of the others around me. People are checking their bikes like Santa checks his list, not once but twice. Movements are jerky and less fluid. At this moment, I know what people mean when they say that the air is electric. It is almost tangible, this anticipation.

Originally I intend to have pizza as my pre-ride meal, but the others want McDonalds and I go along. I want food that is filling and has a high sodium content, and McDonald's or pizza fit the bill. All this rest and all this eating, I should be as full as a tick. More weight to carry up hills, I think to myself. Before eating, we move our bicycles from the bicycle room to the hallway so they will be easier to get to and we talk about the time to head over to the start. I know from experience it will be a long wait with everyone pushing and crammed in like sardines. It is almost impossible to stay together as a group. In 2007, I grabbed onto Steve Royse's carradice to keep from getting separated. Hating crowds the way I do, it is one of my least favorite parts of the ride, but it is part of the ride experience. This year the ride is to start earlier rather than the 10:00 p.m. start time.

After lunch I rest and read for just a bit keeping my legs elevated, then I dress and head downstairs dropping my suitcases off in the bag room. The outside is crowded and if anything the tension has increased. We head over stopping at Subway on the way to grab a sandwich to take. It is the hottest day there has been since we arrived, and I know I will need extra water while waiting in line. I take a throw away bottle of water.

The waiting is in and of itself an experience. Our group happens to pick the wrong line, and despite getting there quite early we don't manage to get out until the fifth wave. All that is except Dave who left with the fourth wave despite the fact that most of the time he was a bit behind us in line. The movement of the line makes no sense and depends on metal gates that appear to be opened or closed into starting chutes at random without rhyme or reason. Unlike 2007, the earlier start time means that despite getting out in a later wave I can see better as it is still light outside, and I am grateful as there are narrowing roads and roundabouts with unexpected curbs. I still remember the horrible sound of someone crashing near the start in 2007, then sound of scraping on the pavement made worse by the darkness and the crowd.

While in line, though I hate crowds and waiting like this, it engages me to see the riders from different countries and their bikes and hear people talking. Some conversations I can understand and others I cannot. I watch in disbelief as one woman pulls a bag of make up out of her handlebar bag saying she thought it might be easier if she could put on make-up during the ride to make herself feel better. Another man brags about DNFing in 2007 and not being trained enough to finish this year. His rationale for attending was that it meant a trip to Paris. I don't understand this, but there is much in this world that is beyond my ken. Amazingly, one woman lights a cigarette to smoke before the ride. Around us there are multitudes of watchers and entertainment: musicians with bagpipes and people in costumes on stilts. I am toward the center and can't get a good shot of these performers, but the music is uplifting. At times I become annoyed as people are bumping and pushing me with their bicycles and their persons and I am not a patient person and I like my physical space, but I know that we are getting closer to starting all the time and I counsel myself to be patient.

We finally arrive at the start after a two to three hour wait. I have eaten a sandwich while in line, ran to the bathroom while Steve held my bike, and drank the extra water that I did not intend to carry on the bike. I have taken a picture for a man from another country of him and his buddy. I am weary of standing. My feet are beginning to ache. As we near the start, attitudes change and smiles begin to flicker across faces. I feel myself inflating inside with excitement. The journey is about to begin. All of us here, whether or not we understand each other, are challenging ourselves, and all of us love the bikes. All of us have worked and sweated and planned and dreamed for this moment. Maybe because it is an event rather than a race, nationalities seem to unite.

Finally the gun sounds and our wave is off. I remind myself not to get caught up so early in giving chase to others. Some of the cyclists appear to be riding individually; others are clustered together with others from their country wearing special jerseys. My choice to start this year was my 2007 PBP jersey. It is a personal thing with me from my running days: you can't wear a shirt or jersey until you earn it. Still I appreciate the idea of countries identifying their participants and may need to change my thinking in this area. I find myself at the front of a long pace line, and I force myself to slow and drop back to accept the draft. It will be an hour or more before the crowds thin. I end up near Bill, and despite dropping back we pass rider after rider. Steve Rice pulls ahead, and Dave is long gone. Some of the riders I encounter have good riding skills, but others seem squirrely so I pay particular attention to those I don't know, mostly everyone, trying to prevent or avoid an accident. Throughout the ride I remain alert for riders stopping without giving any indication they will be stopping or pulling out in front of me. Weariness will exacerbate poor handling skills. I notice early on that more riders wear helmets than in 2007. In fact, I encounter very few riders that do not have on helmets.

The first fifty miles or so are fairly flat and I make good time. Then we hit the forest, the Foret Domaniali Ramboullet, and the start of the climbs. There are never any really serious hills steepness wise, but they are relentless for most of the course. I don't remember this forest from 2007, maybe because it was dark and I was occupied doing my best to hang onto Joe and Steve or maybe because of the incessant rain and wind, but it is breathtakingly beautiful. Like many of the villages we pass that are centuries old, it seems settled somehow, something you can rely on to go on much the same tomorrow as it does today giving stability to the world. Everything is so green and verdant. I wonder if one of these hills was the one where in 2007 on the return someone shouted, "Bravo, Madame USA." Throughout the ride, the French people will be out supporting us with cheers and giving out water and other goodies. Bill and I discuss how different it is, that in the USA our children would complain of boredom after the first two or three riders passed. The French adults and children warm my heart with their desire to be supportive. Throughout the ride families and individuals are there giving riders water, cheers, sugar cubes, and other goodies.

Even with the extra weight of my bags and the drag of my hub generator, I find I am climbing well. We will ride through the night, the next day, and part of the next night before stopping to sleep for a few hours. Bill and I talk about sleep stops. I tell him that my plan is to get to Loudeac and see how I feel. If I feel as if I can go on, I will. If not, I will sleep there as I did in 2007. I can tell he is wanting to plan on pressing onward, and that is fine. I learned in 2007 that I need to ride my own ride and not someone else's ride. He must do the same. During long rides, it is not unusual for me to go through periods of feeling strong and well to periods of feeling weak and wanting to give in. I need to use those moments when I am feeling powerful while still being careful to pace myself. It is unusual to find someone whose rhythm matches your own, but so far Bill and I seem to be matching paces. If this changes, I can ride alone.

We delay putting on our reflective gear as long as possible because of the heat. Even with evening gradually blanketing us in darkness, I am covered with sweat. This will change during the nights and the second day of the ride when I am at times gratefully wearing everything that I brought to stay warm other than my short sleeved wool top. But for now, it is hot and I am glad for the training I had in 90 degree temperatures at home.

It seems a long time before we hit Mortagne, the first control. It is an optional control so we don't get our cards stamped here, but we stop and eat. I remembered that they have mashed potatoes and have been looking forward to them. They are bland and seem to settle my stomach which was beginning to worry me with a faint hint of what I suffered in 2007. I drink not one, but two cans of Coca Cola sending silent apologies to my dentist, my middle brother. One thing I remember is that I need to force myself to eat and drink. Deficits are hard to recover from, particularly when there is little sleep. It is a relief to lose the camelbak as it is beginning to bother my neck, and I wonder at the riders that are able to carry backpacks the entire way rather than using panniers or carradices or other baggage holders. Mostly these riders seem to be European, but it makes me think momentarily of Packman. How I wish he had been able to do this ride. I feel sure he would have been a Charly Miller rider. Before I left the states I openly lamented the lack of Sprite that would be available during the ride, and I giggle thinking of his response that he would have taken his own and had it in his backpack. I think that I am glad he is my friend.

We eat quickly once we work our way through the line, and then it is back on the road. We share a large bottle of water, filling our bicycle bottles. Looking back, we might have been better served time-wise stopping at one of the cafes we saw open along the way earlier on, but I had made my plans based on 2007 without taking into account the different starting time, something that will come back to bite me at the end of the ride. In 2007, I don't remember all these places being open.

The controls pass quickly and the countryside flies by. At one point, I look to my right and am awestruck at seeing a castle. I stop to take a photograph and Bill patiently stops as well. We talk briefly about what it must be like living in a castle. I have been admiring gardens along the way. There are vegetable gardens that in themselves are works of art, but almost every home has a flower garden bursting with a collage of color. It is as if every gardener here is an artist and planting is not just utilitarian. I like to garden, but I have done nothing to compare to this, and I marvel at the complexity that ironically seems so simple. I briefly wonder if the cooler temperatures affect the lushness that is the french countryside. I marvel at the lack of litter along the way and think that the French must be a proud and caring people for there to be so little litter. I did not see one pop bottle or pop can discarded along the side of the road. The little trash I did see seemed to be from inconsiderate riders who had used energy gels and dropped the empty packages in the road rather than taking them to the trash can at the next control. I pride myself on not doing this with my trash. You should not litter your own nest, and you should not drop your trash in other people's homes. Yes, it means that some of my things got a tad sticky, but everything I have is washable. I am a guest here, and I am honored that they have allowed me to share their home. Respect is just one way in which I can show my gratitude.

I find myself singing as I ride along. The hills are coming easily and my song helps me pace myself. Later in the ride, while I am sitting on a curb drinking a coke, a man from Canada will come up and thank me for my song. He says he has never thought of music in connection with brevets. People stare at times, but I figure that if my singing bothers them they can speed up or slow down. My legs still feel strong when we reach Loudeac and there is no way I want to stop and sleep there. Controls have been crowded and have eaten our time, but it is still light. Despite my vow from 2007 to avoid eating at controls like the plague, I find myself eating at many of them. I also find myself getting used to entering a woman's bathroom and finding men inside or there being unisex bathrooms. The bathrooms often don't have seats on the commodes, and sometimes don't even have commodes. In the port-a-pots at Villaines, I find myself trying to figure out how to urinate when all that is there is a small hole in the floor of the port-a-pot. I finally see how urine is funneled downwards and that a woman does not even need to squat to urinate, but what one does when one needs to defecate in one of these port a pots eludes me. I am glad I brought along camping toilet tissue and corn fields will be fertilized and watered. Passing through the middle of one town, a man has his bib shorts pulled all the way down to his knees and is bent over examining himself. It is early in the ride for saddle sores, but I suppose that is what it was. I giggle and ask Bill if he noticed (as if anyone would not). It might have been sore, but he did have a beautifully muscled rear end. I think how different it is in the United States; here he would be arrested for indecency. Somehow, I don't find it offensive; just different than what I am used to. I revel in the newness.

Bill is still with me, and we plunge onwards. I am relieved that he appears to be okay because early in the ride he began to suffer from cramping. This was rather strange as I don't remember ever seeing him cramp before. The people watching from a doorway began shouting at me when I retraced my course to check on him after realizing he was not behind me and did not understand when I shouted, "Ami," but they understand when we ride by together and I holler, "Bonjour." I thank people for their "Bravos" and "Allez" and "Bon Chance" with a merci. Bill thanks them in English. By now it is apparent that Bill and I are riding together for at least the first part of the ride. We go a bit off course and find a McDonald's to attempt to replenish our sodium and hopefully prevent further cramping. It is rather odd how hard it is to find salt here, an American staple at every table and with every meal. I wonder if it is the same McDonald's that Dave and I stopped at on the return in 2007.

Fatigue is beginning to set in a bit by the time I reach St. Nicholas. Bill and I talk about continuing to Carhaix and just refilling water and grabbing a quick bite here; however, the volunteer directing us misunderstood and before you know it we are back out in the country with no water and no food. I toy with the idea of continuing on the Brest, but by the time I reach Carhaix I am ready to sleep. I am glad I did not stop at Loudiac. It was light and I was not tired. Bill and I decide on three hours of sleep. There is a line for the dormitory, and he says he will just sleep in the cafeteria. I want a cot. When I reach the front of the line, I hear knocking on the window. Dave King has found Bill and I understand that now we are going to sleep four hours. At the dormitory, I tell them when to awaken me. They do not understand. Luckily, the couple behind me speak french and are able to translate. I later find that both Dave and Bill slept there as well. While I am tired and do sleep it is not a sound, dreamless sleep and not particularly restful: the cots are not as comfortable as Loudiac was in 2007 being plastic and too full. The wool blanket makes me sweat, but I am cold if I am not covered. I am awake fifteen minutes before I am due to be awakened. Opening my eyes in the darkness, I see a totally naked man dressing. I think to myself that taking my cycling shorts off while resting would be a good saddle sore preventative and vow to do so the next time I sleep at a control.

I arise and go to look for Bill and Dave, but I can't find them. I decide to eat breakfast and brush my teeth and hope they turn up. After breakfast and a few trips walking from the bikes to the eating places, I finally see Dave. An hour has passed since I awakened, too much time to waste not sleeping, eating, or riding. He says he is going to eat breakfast. He does not know where Bill is. Perhaps they meant 4:00 a.m. rather than four hours of sleep. I leave a note on Bill's saddle telling him I am forging ahead alone, then roll out into the night.

The fog is thick, curling around me like gauze, obscuring my vision and dampening my clothing. I have trouble regulating my core temperature going from cold to hot, so I find myself stopping often and taking clothing on and off. We climb and descend and climb again. At one point a man from Japan asks me in halting English if there is a name for this hill. I am sure there is, but I don't know it. I think how I admire people who know two languages. The fog is so thick that only the continual climbing tells me where I am.   Water drips off my helmet in large drops. It distracts me, hanging on the edge of my helmet, sliding from side to side, but no amount of wiping will keep it away. I have to remove my glasses as I can't see with them on and I am glad that I still have some sight left in these old eyes. I worried about my eyesight when planning this ride, but they have been okay aided by the French roads that never seem to have the large pot holes or debris that take out unsuspecting riders in the USA. I wonder how people I have not seen on the course are doing. It is Dave Rudy's first PBP. Jeff Bauer, Tim Carroll, and Steve Phillipsa are riding fixed gear bicycles along with another rider I don't know at all.

I pass a field of what I believe to be Charolais cattle and think how peaceful they look. Every cow in the field is lying down and peacefully chewing their cud. William Wordsworth comes to mind.: "The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending we lay waste our powers: Little we see in nature that is ours." Yes, I not only sing sometimes on rides, but I have been known to quote poetry. I marvel that anyone will ride with me. I begin to wonder why I never see cattle laying down and chewing their cud at home any more, and I never reach a conclusion. It is odd the things one contemplates on long rides. I do know they are beautiful animals, sleek and well muscled.

At one point, I become incredibly sleepy and pull over remembering my promise to my daughter. Before I left in 2007, she asked me to give my word to pull over and rest if I get too tired to ride safety, and it has reached that point. It always amazes me how suddenly I can become sleepy, my eyes blurring and wanting to roll backwards in their sockets, and how hard it is to resist the temptation to just try to make it to the next control rather than stopping. It seems I am feeling fine and strong, and then quite suddenly fatigue overcomes me and brings me to my knees. Normally a five to ten minute stop will revive me enough to where I am not a danger to myself or others. This time it takes a bit longer, but I brighten and before you know it I am crossing the bridge to Brest. I lament that the fog kept me from enjoying the view from the top of the climb because it is one of my favorite memories from 2007: the panorama and the crowds cheering me on. Due to the fog and the changed start times, nobody is there when we crest. And I lament about not being able to see the view from the bridge more clearly. But I won't complain about this weather. The ride is so much easier than 2007, and I don't think it is training related. I think it is weather related. At one point I meet Dan Driscoll and the Texas crew, the name tags at work, but I fear I am rather in a foul humor from losing so much time at Carhaix and I want to be alone so I press the pace. They must think me unfriendly, rude, and an incredible snob. I just don't feel like talking. It is my own fault for not doing as I planned and riding my own ride, but I am disgusted with myself and I am not done chastising myself. I do not want company with my thoughts. I later feel shamed. Bill has done nothing but praise the Texas 1200 and these individuals who rode, helped, and organized it.

Crossing the bridge to Brest and reaching the control after what seems to be an eternity winding through city streets, I am elated at reaching the turn around point. It seems to take forever as I wind my way through the city to the control, and once I get there I can't help but compare how pleasant the control was in 2007 and how good the food was to what was available this year. I wonder if the course change is due to the fatality that happened in Brest in 2007. While I am eating, Bill appears and I believe we will ride together again; however, we get separated due to bathroom issues and he takes off without me. I run into Dave, but he has not seen Bill. After checking for and not finding the Hilsen, Bill's ride, I take off.

My foul humor is beginning to leave me, finally shrugged off like an old sweater, and I find I am enjoying myself and my legs still are not protesting the climbs. It interests me how some men react to being passed by a woman on a climb, pressing the pace. I think of my son talking to me about driving and trying to pass cars that are going slowly but speed up when you attempt to go by them. "Sometimes, mom," he said, "you have to break their spirits." I break a lot of spirits on this part of the course. When I ask, my legs give without excessive complaint. I wonder at the difference from 2007. Dave catches me for awhile, but then drops backward as I charge these hills to return to Carhaix. I am surprised when he falls back, for he is normally much faster than me, at least riding. Now eating is another story. I know only one person who can rival Dave's slow eating and he doesn't ride: my nephew, Chris.

Despite what feels to be a pretty good pace, like the last time I am amazed at how long it takes to cover the approximate one hundred miles from Carhaix back to Carhaix when there are so many hills to climb. While I am riding along, a rider pulls directly in front of me and allows me to hold his wheel. He pulls me the entire way back to Carhaix. The fog has cleared by the time we reach the top of the big climb, and I can see for miles and miles. Numerous people jump on our back wheel, but none of them stick. With his helmet on, the fellow pulling me looks like a young man.   I think how nice it is that a young man would help an old woman by eating the wind, asking nothing in return and wonder if I will offend him if I tell him that his mother did a good job raising him. We pass Bill and I think he might jump on, but he doesn't. We are machine like, attacking and steadily eating the hills as they appear. I already have been passed by many people during this ride, and will be passed by many more before it is over, but not on this stretch from Brest to Carhaix. The road belongs to Graham and to me and nobody seems to be able to hold our pace. When we reach Carhaix and he takes off his helmet, I find that my new friend, Graham, has more gray in his hair than I do. He just has kept the body of a young man, and I have the body of an older woman who has given birth to two children, likes to eat too much, and suffers an addiction to chocolate. He compliments my climbing and asks if I am from Colorado. I tell him no, Indiana, but I ride in Kentucky often. Graham is from Scotland though he now lives, if I remember correctly, in Montgomery, England. I later look it up and see that it is a small town between Wales and England. I thank him for the pull and wonder if we will continue together, but I am ready to move on and he is nowhere in sight. A poem from Robert Frost comes to mind: "And miles to go before I sleep." I regret that I did not get Graham's last name before we parted company, but I can't go backward.

Bill once again joins me somewhere either at or soon after Carhaix. Somewhere along the way we pass the postcard man that Greg Zaborac had told me about. This man will take care of you, giving you water and food, in return for a post card from your home. Everywhere he has postcards from previous people who have stopped at his stand. Towns and happenings begin to blur and run together in my mind. Bill and I talk briefly about how some people remember every detail and are able to ride such detailed accounts, but my mind does not work that way. I know that I met another woman, a lawyer from the west coast named Louise, and I know that I run into her again at Dreux, but I do not remember what town I was near when we met or whether I was coming to or going from Brest. While part of me wants to stop, Bill and I elect not to stop to visit the postcard man as weariness is beginning to grow. My eyeballs feel gritty. We pass a restaurant advertising pizza and I decide to stop. Bill continues onward, changes his mind, and returns. The owner of the restaurant is outgoing and friendly, the service is fast, and the food is good. He talks in a mixture of French and English about his children's visit to the states. While Bill and I had discussed sharing a pizza, we elected not to: big mistake. The pizzas are huge and neither of us can completely eat ours. It is strengthening to eat a familiar food, but it does seem a shame to waste it. There just seems to be no good way to cart it along.

We stop at Loudiac and get into our drop bags. Bill talks about showering, but it is cold. I tell him I intend to use the wipes I brought and just change clothes. I just can't bear thinking of showering and having wet hair while I ride. If it were warm it would be heavenly, but not in this cold. Perhaps if my hair were short, but that would necessitate regular trips to the beauty shop, something that is right up there with visiting the dentist. Currently, I get by only visiting those shops once or twice per year. Bill decides to follow suit, and I give him some wipes. They have just finished cleaning the bathroom when I go in to change. While I don't feel that I am taking a particularly long time, I am startled before I am finished by a pounding on the door and I call out that I am almost finished. I hurry and come out expecting to find a long line and there is nobody in line. I'm still not sure what the pounding was all about. While still at the control, Dave shows up and talks about showering. I offer him wet wipes and he accepts. It feels wonderful having clean shorts and jersey. I have now chosen my red Tour De Mad Dog jersey from 2010 designed by Steve Rice. Bill has on his green Tour De Mad Dog jersey. We will get lots of compliments on these jerseys as we finish our journey. The weather has actually been perfect riding weather, but I had hoped for sun. Maybe tomorrow. We continue onward.

By the time we have reached Tinteniac, it is dark and I am tired. Bill agrees it is time to sleep. Dave is with us. We go to the dormitory only to find that the beds are all taken: there is no room at the inn. I don't think I can safely continue the 33 miles to Fougeres without some sleep, so we return to the cafeteria and lie down. I take out an egg timer I brought with me and set it for three hours, then lie down between a table and the wall on the hard floor amongst strangers. Despite the light and noise, I am soon asleep, awakening only enough to unfold my space blanket when I chill. When it is time to get up, I cover a stranger who is shivering in his sleep with my blanket and get ready to move onward.   A man from England notices and tells me I am kind and asks if I have heard about the accident. When I say no he tells me that an American was killed last night. He stated that initially they thought he was a "Brit" because he crossed onto the right side of the road, the side the English normally ride on, and was hit by a truck, but they then determined it was an American. He speculates that the poor fellow fell asleep on his bike and drifted. I say a silent prayer in his honor and for those who loved him, and selfishly hope it is not one of my friends. I will become even more cautious about resting when I am tired as I continue.

As we ride, morning breaks, stretching and tossing her golden mane, flooding us with warmth, reviving our bodies and our spirits. For some reason, it is so much easier to stay sprightly when the world is awake and glowing. It will be hotter, but it appears to be just the type of day I have been hoping for. We stop at a cafe beside a river and have a coke. But I am beginning to feel the ride. At Fougeres, I put my head down on the table in the cafeteria and sleep for a few moments while Bill goes to the medical tent. He has cut his leg on his big wheel and pulled a back muscle. The cut on the back of his leg has blood running down it and looks like a bear swiped his calf with a paw. The doctoring does not help the pain in his back, but a tad later I remember I am carrying lanacane and stop and have him put some on. I am not sure if it will, but it helps. We continue to Dreux where we decide to rest for a half an hour before continuing. I sleep as soon as my head hits the cot.

I am blown away by the friendliness of the volunteers, anticipating what I want before I ask for it. Their kindliness takes my breath away. It is nice to get a good dose of mothering. When we come out, however, Bill has a flat tire, and while fixing it he breaks his light. I give him my secondary light and we continue to the finish. At one point, there is a group gathered around me seeming to wait for me to point the way. Despite being completely tuckered out, I find the humor in this and think how it would amuse my friends who know that I am directionally challenged. There is another section where the blackness and the surroundings make it seem like we are traveling a road that is surrounded on all sides by water. We are passed by multitudes of people as I keep taking breaks to wake back up. I tell Bill to go on, but he tolerantly waits and we finish together. Cards are stamped. It is done.

This is where I made a big miscalculation. I really had not expected to finish this quickly, so I had not rented a room until the day I finished. But I finished at 5:00 a.m. so it is doubtful that they will let me in. Sure enough. When I return to the hotel I am turned away. Tearfully, I go back to the gymnasium only to realize that if I enter, I will not be able to get back out. I lay on the grass near the finish intending to sleep when a woman comes up and asks why I did not finish. The volunteers kept trying to herd me into the finishing chute and I would not go. She speaks English and explains to volunteers who allow me inside. Because I have left, however, they will not allow me to sleep in the dormitory, only on the floor. That is fine. Using my cycling shoes as a pillow and wearing the wool shirt over my clothing that I did not use on the ride, I sleep until about 10:00 a.m. At one point, I awaken quite cold and find a tall, blonde, good-looking Suede covering me with his space blanket. Perhaps our good deeds do find us. The kindness of his gesture touches me and warms me as much as any blanket. There is something intimate about the gesture. Upon reflection, if I return I may plan on sleeping here again rather than spending the money on another day at the motel.

After going through another translation nightmare to get my bike back out, I return to the hotel. Bikes are packed. I finally bathe and happily smell like a girl. Out to dinner and home. In the Chicago Airport, a stranger comes up to me and asks about my Paris Brest Paris tee shirt. When I tell him I just completed the ride, he looks at his wife and says, "Now this is a real cyclist," admiration in his voice. He makes me smile. I do love a good adventure, but it is always good to come back to the home of your heart. There will be hugs and laughter and warmth. Will I do this again in four years? Originally I would have told you definitely yes. There will be times when I know I would tell you, "Hell, no." Who knows? When you are an infant, four years brings on immense changes as you learn to walk, talk, and think. In your middle years, there are times when four years are hardly noticeable. But now I have reached my middle fifties, I suspect that four years will begin to cause more major changes. Unlike when I was an infant, those changes may be losing the ability to do things. And there are other adventures. Whether I go back or not, I am glad I was here. I am glad I shared the ride with my friends. "Vive la France!"

An Unfinished Ride in the Fall

2011-09-25T03:33:00.000-07:00

Fall is always an unsettled time for me. The exquisiteness of the fall landscape as the trees don their festive colors in preparation for a final pas de deux with the wind prior to resting takes my breath away. It also leaves me melancholy with an undefinable and un-named yearning deep inside my heart. I could not tell you what I ache for. Spring? Youth? Warmth? Sunshine? Old acquaintances? I just know that I long to burrow deeply into a loved ones arms and find solace there. Memories resurface that have been buried, and I find I have an intense need to be alone despite the fact that I mourn the lost company of my friends that I have grown accustomed to seeing on week-ends. My pace begins to decline and my body protests at any demand for speed, refusing to comply.

Sometimes it helps if I force myself to ride and I know I will not be riding next week-end due to family plans, and so I head to the group ride this morning. I worry about losing fitness and not being able to keep up with friends if I do not ride. Things do not go well from the start. I forget my cue sheet holder. I forget my GPS. I forget my chewing gum, an addiction that takes the place of smoking. My odometer stops working. On top of all that, like some virgin to riding in rain and cooler temperatures, I forget to put on a wool base layer trusting the weather forecast for the seventies. When I arrive, I find I am at the wrong parking lot. I almost turn around and go home. Something in me does not want to be here. But yesterdays ride was so pleasant. 40 solo miles of mild temperatures with fluffy white cumulus clouds and little rain. I am hoping that if I come to ride, I will be glad I did as sometimes happens. But as I arrive in the correct parking lot today, the rain continues and the sky promises it will most likely be an all day affair. The skies are gray with no promise of sun. And I have ridden in so much rain this year. I feel enervated and I grow weary of rain.

A small group starts off into a wall of grayness, red lights blinking on the backs of bicycles. I am surprised and dismayed at the quickness of the pace, and I wonder if it is me physically or mentally resisting the effort. I am concerned because I don't know this area and have none of the tools to find my way if I drop back. I debate turning around, but instead ask Randy if he intends to ride this quickly the entire way. Randy is kind enough to say he will stay back with me. He has a cue sheet and a working GPS. It is good to see him. It has been awhile.

I am surprised that we can leave the city so quickly from here, and I must admit that the scenery is incredible, but I can't find my rhythm. At the first big hill, I find I am riding adequately if not well. I have no trouble scrambling up it at a reasonable pace leaving a few riders behind. At the top there is a group waiting. At this point I make another mistake, taking off my rain jacket because the rain has slightly slackened. As if taunting me, it begins again in earnest when we all have regrouped and started back up.

We reach the store stop. I am disappointed that they do not serve hot chocolate, but it is a road side ice cream store with no indoor service. I make another mistake ordering ice cream. With stopping, I begin to chill in earnest. Despite the beauty of the route, despite knowing that movement will warm me back up and I will not continue to shiver and shake, I have no desire to continue. I decide to cut the route short, something I rarely allow myself to do. Mark is going back as he has a wedding to attend and can't spend the entire day riding, and I decide to wimp out and return with him. Deep inside I know it is mentally harmful to my riding to force myself onward at this point. I think of a friend's advice about relaxing after PBP and doing some shorter rides, about being goalless for awhile. It is sound advice. I don't want to lose the love for cycling and I may be crossing the fine line that divides burning out with keeping an acceptable fitness level. Pulling out of the store, another rider joins us and we return to the parking lot fairly quickly. I thank Mark for allowing me to accompany him and head homewards picking up a bottle of wine on the way. When I arrive home, a hot bath and a glass of Merlot pick up my spirits. I even take a nap, a luxury I rarely indulge in. "Tomorrow's another day, and I'm thirsty anyway, so bring on the rain." Jo Dee Messina

PBP: The Preparation

2011-09-02T13:28:00.000-07:00

Montaigne...Villaines...Fourgeres....Tinteniac....Loudeac....Carhaix.....Brest: the exotic names of controls ring through my mind like a dream as I begin to make my preparations to depart and begin to plan on what to do to maximize my chances of success once I get there. Nervousness curls itself around me like a serpent, slithering into my dreams and haunting odd moments when my mind is free. Despite many rounds of wrestling with myself about whether or not to once again attempt to conquer this course, I have qualified and registered and I am off to Paris. Once again I will test myself, physically and mentally. My husband does not understand this desire and has often asked why I need to do these things, but he has come to accept that it is something I seem to need to do for whatever weird psychological reason; it is part of who I am and who I am is who he loves. If I could help him understand I would, but alas, it is something I cannot understand myself.

"You know, it's not the honors and the prizes and the fancy outsides of life which ultimately nourish our souls. It's the knowing that we can be trusted, that we never
have to fear the truth, that ultimately there is someone who loves our very being." Fred Rogers

My husband's opinion that I should go yet again because otherwise I would always regret it was one of the reasons that helped me decide to register. I am lucky to have such love and wisdom in my life. I am fortunate that he loves me enough to allow me freedom, not only allows it but recognizes my need for it and encourages it. Some couples do everything together and there is nothing wrong with that, but while I enjoy our time together and wish endlessly that he was well enough to bicycle, I need my alone time.

"Make no little plans; they make no magic to stir men's blood and probably will themselves not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will not die." (Daniel Burnham).

I begin to plan to alleviate my nervousness. I think that success at most endeavors is partially due to planning and partially due to luck, and I wonder if it becomes more so as we age. I ask myself if I feel that much older than I did four years ago. Indeed, sometimes I have to do the math to tell people my age. It just seems so meaningless other than as a determiner for when I can retire. I wonder to myself if this is some strange dodge to delude myself that I can do this yet again. I am four years older than I was at the last PBP, and it was so very hard four years ago. I have done enough distance sports to have learned never to say never again at the end of an event when the pain is still fresh and tauntingly looking you in the face, but still I am surprised that I am once again challenging myself for I still remember the looks on faces and in eyes around me and I remember the feeling of complete and total exhaustion. Oddly enough, however, despite my aching seat and weary limbs and mind, something inside me knew I could go farther if it was demanded. Humans are like that, never knowing what they can accomplish if they don't give up and quit. I suppose what I am saying is that most long rides are as much about conquering the minds desire to quit as they are about the bodies weaknesses. I smile thinking that long rides are like childbirth: the struggles dim with time or the human population would have ceased to be many years ago. But giving birth the second time was easier than the first, so maybe this experience will be easier if I incorporate changes to reflect the changes I know will help me to ride smarter. I find myself making the mental changes needed to complete endurance events, the minimization of the effort.

Approximately 750 miles on a bicycle in less than 90 hours sounds ridiculous and unobtainable, but I did it once so perhaps it lies somewhere within me to do it again. So many people have given me advice and encouragement to help me succeed: Dave King, Bill Pustow, Packman, Eddie, Steve Rice, and many more. To prepare mentally, I will begin to minimize the century rides I am doing mentally telling myself that it is only a short 100 milers. Occasionally I gaze at my wall to the shadow box in which my last PBP medal hangs confirming success. I have won many awards through the years in different sports, but this medal is the only one I taken the time to display properly. Normally I try to look at past accomplishments in the light of advice from one of Adrienne Rich's poems, "Love what you do, Not what you have done." The others hang from nails or on dressers or are in drawers or have been lost.

I grin thinking of Johnny Betrand's kindness in sending me the medal set to go with the PBP medal. His kindness meant as much as the medal itself. Sometimes we have friends that we don't realize have befriended us. Those unexpected and undeserved acts of kindness often mean the most. As I think of him I am suddenly back on my bike in a nameless village in France in the middle of the night, alone and tired and wondering what I have gotten myself into despite the cool sweetness of the damp night air. Suddenly mixed with the sound of gentle rain on rooftops and roads, I hear the clear sound of whistling wafting through the air as sweet as an after dinner wine embracing me like a warm hug and somehow I know it is Johnny. While I don't know him well, I am somehow comforted and the night seems friendlier. There is someone I know, however, slightly, here sharing this moment even though he does not know that I listen. I feel almost as if I am shamelessly eavesdropping, entranced by what I am hearing yet unable to turn away. I am comforted and know I can continue to ride.

Now I wonder to myself if I can ride all those miles again. One friend recently asked me what I fret so when I do so many long rides not understanding that it is not just the distance, but the increased weight on the bike and the resistance of the hub generator powering the light. The crowds at controls steal your sleep time, and I will be lucky to get eight hours sleep in four days of riding. And then there is the terrain where it seemed I was always going up or down a hill. "Will I shame myself if I fail," I think, and decide that I will not. I have prepared as best I can and will do the best I can. The shame would be in not making the attempt. Someone, I can't recall whom, once said,"If there exists no possibility of failure, then victory is meaningless."

TOKYO 2011

2011-08-11T15:16:00.000-07:00

"I am often accused of being childish. I prefer to interpret that as child-like. I still get wildly enthusiastic about little things. I tend to exaggerate and fantasize and embellish. I still listen to instinctual urges. I play with leaves. I skip down the street and run against the wind. I never water my garden without soaking myself. It has been after such times of joy that I have achieved my greatest creativity and produced my best work."~Leo F. Buscaglia

While I can't claim Mr. Buscaglia's creative genius, I identify with this quote, particularly during certain times of year when I find myself free of common encumbrances and worries. And there is nowhere that I feel freer, younger, or more myself than on a bicycle surrounded by friends. And there is no ride I enjoy more than TOKYO.

TOKYO:
Part of speech: Noun
Definition: Tour of Kentucky Overland, a four day bicycle trip I look forward to with relish and elation.

I adore this ride the way a child adores Christmas, and I anticipate it each year without fail. Just thinking of it causes a huge, crooked grin to emerge further wrinkling my face. Perhaps it is seeing seldom seen friends who live far away like the Gregs and Joe, perhaps it is being off of work and not having to make constant decisions and hear ugly things, perhaps it is the breathtakingly beautiful scenery that often brings tears to my eyes, perhaps it is the hills that make my legs cry for mercy, perhaps it is the downhills where I glimpse for a moment what it would be like to fly, perhaps it is the sharing time with friends who hold the same interests. Most likely, it is a combination of these things, and I will forever be in debt to my friend, Steve Rice, who designed the route and patiently captains it each year and includes girls.

Before I know it, the time to leave is upon me. I had canceled my reservations and was not going to ride this year due to an illness in my husband's family, but he urged me to go. Does he know how renewing this ride is for my mental well being or does he just love me enough to not want something I can't help to interfere? Is he telling me the truth when he says this is something he needs time alone to deal with his coming loss or is he lying to me knowing that by letting me go free he binds me more tightly? I fight feelings of selfishness knowing that humans can justify any decision we make if we are just mentally creative enough. I end up waiting to see how things are the morning of the ride before making a decision, and I decide to head out not knowing if I will ride one day or four. I am saddened to hear a friend of mine who normally joins us will not be riding due to his own family emergency.

I pack my bags in the morning and head for the ride hoping that I haven't forgotten anything due to my lack of preparation. Ten people end up riding this year: Steve Rice, Steve Sexton, Steve Royse, Dave King, Greg Zaborac, Joe Camp, Mark Rougeux, Jason Willis, Mike Kamenish, and I. We gather in the early morning and smiles split faces. There is some nervousness that comes through in voices making jokes and teasing as this is a first for some and others know they may not be sufficiently prepared. This is a hard ride, and the weather prediction is for hot temperatures. At the start I realize what I have forgotten: wine. The guys are beer drinkers, but I prefer the fruit of the grape. Our gracious sag driver, Deb Sexton, hears my lament and says she will bring some. Not only does she end up doing this, but it is her own home made wine and it is delicious. What a giving person she is, and I am glad she is sharing TOKYO with us again this year.

The first day of the ride goes from Louisville to Dry Ridge. We load our bags into Deb's car and we roll out into the morning air, a collage of colored jerseys and bikes. At first I worry about keeping up as I did not sleep well the previous night and had ridden 75 miles the previous day anticipating possibly missing the trip and the PBP preparation it brings this year, but soon I discover that the excitement of the upcoming journey has made up for lost sleep.

The first half of this day is not particularly scenic in comparison to the other days, but seeing old friends and the exhilaration of the trip makes up for that. There is chatting, joking, and soon I find song pouring out of me as it does when I am happy. Luckily my friends are tolerant of my voice only occasionally telling me to shut up. Soon I find myself laughing and guffawing as I haven't laughed in months, laughing so that I have a hard time gasping enough air to power the pedals, laughing until I hurt so good inside. Gosh, I love to laugh. It seems like we have barely blinked an eye before we are lunching on the river at Carrolton. Before long we are doing the long climbs to Jonesville and then on to Dry Ridge. Despite the fact it is not as hot as yesterday, I use an ice sock on the climb out of the store and I am not sorry when I reach the top.

After reaching the motel and showering, I head to the lobby to meet the others for dinner. I am jubilant to come out and find Greg Smith sitting there and to hear his mother is doing better. I had been so disappointed when I found he could not ride, and worried about the problems his mother was having. Facing so many problems with my own mother this year has made me more empathetic I suspect. We all enjoy dinner today and I get to hear tales of Ragbrai and other bicycle adventures. I listen tense with envy. To others, we would be a boring lot talking about rides and gears and different frames and equipment, but this is a shared passion, the passion that unites us. I still am not sure if I am reversing my route and riding back to the start the next day, probably getting hopelessly lost on the way, or continuing with the group. I check in with my husband after dinner, we talk, and the decision is for me to go on with the group.

The second day we head to Morehead and face the first creek crossing. I remember the first year we crossed this creek and chuckle as I watch Dave now walk boldly across with no fear that a giant crawdaddy will bite off his toe;-) Our traditional store stop is closed, but another is still open. As they did the first year we did this ride when we had no idea where we really were going, things work out. We are soon at the traditional lunch stop and once again I am all smiles thinking of Dick Rauh getting locked in the bathroom the previous year while all of us gathered waiting across the street, glad that it wasn't us locked in that dark, smelly room and naughtily giggling at his dilemma.

For dinner we don't gather as a group. A few of us get pizza and eat in the motel breakfast room while others go out. Dave and I walk to get a small tub of ice cream afterward and I am in heaven. Pizza AND ice cream. Dear God, it is no wonder I put on weight during this ride. It is no wonder I adore this ride.

Day three is the mountain stage with lots of delicious climbs as we head toward Berea. Mist soaks the morning and floats along the mountains making them somehow dreamlike: clouds come to earth. Everything is so green and fecund despite the fact that it is August, and I try to soak it up into every pore. My lust for this scenery is insatiable. I can't believe how strong I have been feeling during this ride this year. Climbs that normally leave me gasping for air seem somehow easier this year.   I wonder to myself if I am climbing more quickly or the others are climbing more slowly.

Day three brings the trek up the creek and the two mile hike through the Daniel Boone Forest, one of my favorite parts of the ride. As usual, my brake pads begin to fill up with mud. We regroup at the cave before emerging back out onto the road. When we can ride again, we borrow a hose from the corner house that we frequent every year and clean our bikes. It is on to Slade and the Nada Tunnel. A couple of the riders have not seen the tunnel before, and Steve Rice tells them the story of its creation. Normally I ride the tunnel despite the fact it gives me a sense of vertigo, but this year I walk with Steve Sexton thinking that a fall so near PBP could be disastrous.

After the tunnel it is on to the best cheeseburger and fries we will experience on this trip. Steve and I grow inpatient as our fries and burgers sit there growing cold while the cook/waitress does other things, but despite being luke warm it is still delicious. I wonder how I will ever climb the upcoming mountains, our traditional polka dot jersey part of the ride with the long climbs up to the Estil County Green Sign. At the bottom, we see a pink pig cross the road. I have never seen a loose pig before and neither have the others. Before you know it, Jason has dropped up and Mike, Mark, Greg, and I are climbing. Soon Mark disappears. I later learn he dropped his chain. I begin to realize that I might, just might, get up the hill before Mike or Greg despite the fact they are previous polka dot jersey winners. My legs burn and my lungs gasp for every speck of oxygen, but I pull ahead and stay ahead. I never catch Jason but I feel pretty good coming in second. At first I think, "I am the first woman." Then I realize I am the first woman every year. Duh, maybe because I am the only woman rider every year.

After the climb we descend and feel the cool air blasting out of a nearby cave. Greg later says there was a mist that he saw, but I suppose I was too wrapped up experiencing the cool. We stop at the store and I buy a cold watermelon for everyone. Cyclists are splayed across the floor inside the store. And then it is up the valley to the motel.

Then comes the last day, the return to Louisville. I am always torn on this day. I don't want this to ever end, but I also miss home and I am beginning to feel tired. Last night Jim Moore and Mike Pitt joined us for this return leg. We part company early as they decide to stop at the coffee shop and the rest of us opt for the store. It passes too quickly and we are back. There are hugs and good-byes and when I leave I shed a few tears for those I will not see until Hell Week next spring. Take care my friends. Thanks, Steve, for the adventure. Thanks, guys, for the jokes, hugs, and friendship. Ain't bicycling grand?

Green River Century

2011-07-13T12:42:00.000-07:00

“Whether the weather be fine, Whether the weather be not, Whether the weather be cold, Whether the weather be hot, We'll weather the weather, Whatever the weather, Whether we like it or not.” Unknown author (probably referring to a Mad Dog;-)

June has been a hot month, more like August with temperatures in the nineties that make the outdoors feel like an oven, with temperatures that make thick syrup of the air that flows so freely in cooler temperatures. The wet, cold, windy spring suddenly leapfrogged to sizzling temperatures. The bees have had trouble finding nectar this year and I have had trouble getting enough riding in. Thus it is pleasant to hear the weather prediction for the Green River Century: lows in the sixties and highs only in the eighties......sounds a treat. The only problem is the drive. It is about two hours from Scottsburg to Campbellsville, Kentucky. I justify the trip by telling myself that I need the training and while I could do another century from my home and be a good bit through by the time I make the drive to and from, I won't ride as quickly. Riding alone hurts my speed because I am too lazy to push myself, and this year has not been conducive to training. More importantly, it will be nice to travel lesser known roads and to enjoy the companionship of friends.

When I went to bed last night I was exhausted from the Campbellsburg Century, a century that I always find to be deceptively hard. Sleep came easily, but it was fragmented, did not last, and I found getting up was no problem. My free wheel on my Trek was making strange and frightening noises on descents yesterday, so I decide to take the Lynskey. The Cannondale has a flat tire that needs fixing and while I have seen Jim Whaley ride this route fixed, I would never attempt it if I were not riding on my own or with others on fixed gears.

When I near Elizabethtown, I realize that I am unsure of the directions Grizzly has given. Do I exit at Elizabethtown and then find a Hodgenville Exit, or is there a Hodgenville Exit following the Elizabethtown exit? I pull off at Elizabethtown and phone just to be sure. I am not renowned for my spectacular sense of direction and I don't want to drive all this way and not find the ride start in time.

Grizzly gets me back on track and I soon arrive.

Arriving early, I see Jim “Grizzly” Moore's smiling face and his “Mad Dog flag,” an orange jacket waving high above his van. I sign in and then decide to get my extra miles needed to make this ride a true century prior to the ride start. It seems that every time I pass the parking lot there are new faces. Despite the fact he is now in college, I still struggle with Nate Dog driving and not being with Scott “Jammer” K. I suppose I grow old, and his growing up is just another recognition of that fact. So many Mad Dogs: I think how Eddie “Paco” would feel if he realized how the pack has grown. Some of them I know and some I do not. Despite the years that have passed without seeing Eddie, I am still thankful for knowing him and for his advice. Yes, Eddie, I remember to “weight my pedal” around turns, something that will be useful on this ride during one long, lovely, technical descent. I love those descents where it takes every last bit of concentration to find your line and hold it knowing that the least little misjudgment or distraction could result in your spilling onto the ground. You would think I would love roller coasters, but I don't. There is just something about a good descent and the way the wind caresses your face, a lover's touch tempting you toward fulfillment or disaster.

The dogs spill out onto the road, a collage of color and sounds. There is the sound of shoes clipping into pedals, gears shifting, wheels turning: the sounds I have come to adore. There is the sound of morning and the sound of conversation, jokes, and laughter between friends. There are the colors of the jerseys and the bicycles and the helmets. There are the smells that waft through the air. Every sense is engaged.

Unlike some rides, with the Green River Century I seem to be almost immediately away from any traffic and in the country. It is still a lush, fecund green. Orange day lilies line the road, straining toward light and the sun, almost obscene against their green background as they cry, “Notice me.” Other wild flowers, less flamboyant, line the roads and they make me think of Steve “Gnarly” Royse who often was able to tell me their names when we rode together more often. After the first store stop, I find myself riding off the front of the group I am with not only because I am feeling spry, but also because I want to sing. I am happy here. I am content. Sometimes being on my bicycle seems to calm my restlessness and convey contentment in a way that nothing else can. The song, “Friends,” by Elton John floats to my mind and as I sing I wonder what thought process brings certain songs to mind:

I hope the day will be a lighter highway
For friends are found on every road
Can you ever think of any better way
For the lost and weary travelers to go

Making friends for the world to see
Let the people know you got what you need
With a friend at hand you will see the light
If your friends are there then everything's all right

It seems to me a crime that we should age
These fragile times should never slip us by
A time you never can or shall erase
As friends together watch their childhood fly

Making friends for the world to see
Let the people know you got what you need
With a friend at hand you will see the light
If your friends are there then everything's all right

Making friends for the world to see
Let the people know you got what you need
With a friend at hand you will see the light
If your friends are there then everything's all right
Music by Elton John
Lyrics by Bernie Taupin

During the ride I watch Steve “Mule” Rice rescue a little, tan dog that followed me onto the highway, scooping it up in his arms and returning it to its home and somehow making it stay there. I watch Carla “Stormy” Dearing conquer hills with determination flashing in her eyes and I think how strong she has become. I enjoy the easy companionship of Dick “Minner” Rauh and Mark Rougeux, as yet Mad Dog nameless. I laugh at Dave “Bam Bam” King and Mike “Deisel” Kamenish's jokes. I take food orders for people like John “the Vaccinator” Larson as the lunch stop is overwhelmed by the number of dogs rolling in. I could go on and on. For those dogs already my friends with whom I spent all or part of the day, I thank you. For those yet to be my friends, while I tend to be a bit reserved due to excessive shyness, I look forward to meeting you and hope we become friends as we share the road and our love of cycling.

Kentucky 600K 2011

2011-05-06T13:14:00.000-07:00

As Mohammad Ali once said, "The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses - in the gym and out there on the road, long before I dance out there in the lights." While I am not the talented champion Muhammad is, I have prepared to win the fracas as best I can and I am ready to dance the hills on my bike, my lights not stage lights but the stars, facing the challenge of the Kentucky 600K, the opponents myself and the course: 375.4 miles with approximately 20,000 feet of climbing. Rather than the normal nervousness that troubles me, I am inexplicably calm. Perhaps having done this route and this distance before in 2007, I have accepted that there will be times that I will feel pain and times that I feel like giving up. Perhaps the previous rides and the exacting weather conditions have distilled in me a confidence that I did not previously know I possessed. For whatever reason, I feel certain that I have the mental fortitude to conquer these moments tomorrow barring something new and unforeseen. I have trained as best I could and I intend to win this fight, a struggle with myself to conquer my own weaknesses, both mental and physical. But if the unforeseen should happen and I should fail, I know that the world will continue to turn and I will go on. Either way I will have learned something about myself. So many times in life I eschewed goals from fear because I might not be successful, but not tomorrow. Tomorrow I will dare myself.

Once again Susan Howell is kind enough to invite me to share her lovely home and enjoy her gracious hospitality, but I have decided to decline and to stay in the motel next to the starting place so that I can have everything in order. My plan is to sleep for a few hours following the 400K section of the course, and I don't want to face having to check in at whatever time I might arrive. Experience has taught me how exhausted I will be and how nice it is to have a motel room key and everything laid out and ready to bathe, sleep, and continue the journey. One thing that continually amazes me is how a few hours of sleep can revive a weary body filling it with the strength to continue when reason tells it to stop, and I treasure every moment of the restoration.

This has been a hard year to prepare for a series.   There have been personal issues such as my mother's ill health and work stressors. The winter held me housebound and off the bike more than usual, and the cold, wind, and rain held me hostage through much of the spring. It is just so difficult to force yourself out the door and fling yourself into the face of the wind and the cold sometimes when the house is warm and the couch beckons, seductively whispering that there are books to be read and movies to be watched. It has helped having friends who are also preparing and brave the weather conditions with me for longer rides on the week-ends when the wind is strong and the weather inclement. In a sense we have a symbiotic relationship, these friends who are all so very different but united in their love of distance riding and the bike and the desire to participate in the wondrous occasion that is Paris-Brest-Paris. We encourage each other to ride at times when it would be much more comfortable to stay home wrapped in the warmth of our families.

Before leaving the house, I check the weather forecast one last time. Other than fairly strong wind predictions, Saturday sounds quite delightful though I know the higher temperatures will put me at greater risk of dehydration as I have not yet adapted to any warm temperatures. Even Texas this year was unusually cool. I eagerly anticipate the warmth, but I also respect it and the need to embrace it slowly. Drinking regularly will be of the utmost importance. For Sunday we are back to cooler temperatures and the normal rain that has harrowed this spring, but at least the wind predictions are less than on Saturday. I think how nice it will be to have sunshine on Saturday. It seems an eternity since I have ridden in the sunshine and gazed at shadows frisking on the ground. I eagerly anticipate soaking up the sun, spring flowers, and the lush greenness that an excessively wet spring brings. We have had our April showers; now for the May flowers.

I get to the host motel and sign in. Steve Rice is manning the sign in and tells me that 21 riders have signed up. I am glad to hear that Jeff Sammons from Tennessee is riding. I have not seen him since the Natchez Trace 1000K he organized last year. While we are not close friends, I have ridden with him occasionally and he seems to be a nice person. One has to admire anyone that can organize a 1000K event. Again the series has drawn people from various states and from Canada with various bicycles. There is a recumbent, a tandem, and a fixed gear as well as regular road bikes of different makes and styles. One rider, Alex Meade, is even riding a bike he made and designed himself. His web site is: http://www.sandsmachine.com/bp_amb.htm. I think how special that must feel and how I envy those who have the ability to create.

After signing in, I head to the motel and run into my friend, Bill Pustow, as I am carrying in my bags. Yes, bags as in plural;-) One is filled with normal clothing. The other has bicycling clothing for all conditions and bicycle supplies. I have learned my lesson about weather. It is better to have more than what you need and not use it than to not have what you need, and weather predictions are often wrong. Yes, I have donned plastic trash bags and cotton work gloves while on a ride, but while I applaud the creativity it is not my preference. In the morning I will don clothing I think is appropriate, then double check by stepping outside the door into the open air. It is a surprise to see Bill as I did not know he also was staying. I anticipated that he would drive over in the morning as he lives much closer to the start than I do. After a brief hello, we each head to our rooms. I chuckle to myself thinking that the only time I ask for a 3:15 a.m. wake up call is for a brevet start. Of course, I don't normally try to go to sleep at 8:30 p.m. either. Even though I normally do go to bed early and have suffered the taunts of my children for years over this schedule, 8:30 a.m. is early even for me: 9:00 p.m. perhaps, but not 8:30 p.m.

In my room, I organize everything so as to use as little time as possible getting ready to ride or to sleep. I have prepared sandwiches to take both days and put them in the refrigerator, then I tape a note to my bike so that I don't ride off without them tomorrow. This year I have been working on my nutrition and my drinking while on the bike and it seems to be paying off. (Now if I could only translate that to off the bike and lose some of this weight;-) The rides have been challenging, sometimes incredibly hard, but I have been successful. Before I know it, I am snuggled in bed reading a few pages, entering a world not my own to help me doze off.

I awaken at 3:00 a.m. before I receive my wake up call, clamber out of bed and push the start button on the coffee pot that I prepared the night before, then I snuggle back in bed for a few more precious moments watching the weather channel while the smell of freshly brewed coffee begins to wrap itself around me. I think how coffee is a comforting smell familiar from my childhood, the smell that wafted from the kitchen mixed with other enticing odors while my mother fixed breakfast for us children. I remember fixing breakfast for my own children and that wonderful feeling that somehow comes from feeding people that you care about knowing they are warm, safe, sated, and content. I feel a moments guilt riding today rather than driving to see my mother in the rehab nursing home she recently entered following an unexpected illness, but my brothers have promised to check on her this week-end knowing of my plans. My mother does not like my riding a bicycle because she believes it is dangerous. My mother does not like my riding a bicycle with men as she believes it is unladylike. While she loves me, my mother had hoped for a much different daughter than the one she took home from the hospital and she has no understanding of brevets; but for some reason, this year she surprises me by saying she feels I should go to Paris-Brest-Paris.

After dressing and eating a bowl of cereal that I brought with me as the motel will not serve breakfast for a few hours, I head over to the ride start while double checking my lights. The crowd is much smaller than the earlier brevets, but there are still 20 who will make a beginning, rolling out into the dark night where only a sliver of yellow moon is visible. The wind is noticeably absent despite the prediction. Wimp that I am, I momentarily wish that it will stay that way. It doesn't. Wind makes such a difference in the effort involved in a ride. Steve Rice says someone is missing. I notice that I have not yet seen my friend, Steve Royse, but when I ask I find Royse is there waving with that kindly smile that he wears. While I don't ride with him at all this ride, I am glad he is riding and gladder still when I later receive an e-mail that he is successful in his quest. I don't figure out who is not there that had signed up.

Steve says that it is time to start and we head down the slope of the driveway and onto the road. There seems to be an unusual silence in the air and I wonder if it is just me: not much chatter, simply the sound of cranks and chains and shifting gears, redundant and comforting somehow. In an hour or so, the early morning bird song will begin, sweetly drifting through the air, but not yet. Soon I am with the first group I will ride with: Steve Rice, Bill Pustow, Jeff Sammons, and David Rudy. David says it will be his first PBP and I am excited for him. Firsts are so very special, and PBP is such a unique experience. Jeff and I talk briefly of perhaps riding together during PBP, and I think it would be nice to have company. Still I know that the last PBP I learned that to be successful I had to ride my own pace. Trying to hang with Steve Rice and Joe Camp about did me in. They are just stronger riders than I am. When I gave up the group I came into my own, my solitary rambles around my home coming to my rescue. I enjoy company on rides normally, but I don't require it.

I notice that the honey suckle vines have started to bloom, something I normally see the first Saturday in May during the Pam Ride, and my nose searches for that sweet, familiar scent; however, today it eludes me. I wonder if the rain has washed the nectar away or if more warmth is necessary for the fragrance to begin to perfume the air. So many things I don't understand. The irises are beginning to bloom, their beards a contrast to their petals, and in the wooded areas, wildflowers gaily raise their heads seemingly delighting in the sun as much as I am. I rejoice in the fecund beauty of this birthing world. I note a shadow crossing the road in front of me and look up quickly enough to spot a red tailed hawk soaring boldly through the air.

At the controls, we barely pause. There is time to get my brevet card signed, have a quick bathroom break, gulp a drink, and stuff some food in my mouth, but only barely. In the bathroom I monitor the color of my urine to watch for dehydration. Rather gross, but quite helpful. I have learned to save time by leaving my helmet on. The gloves stay on as well unless I do take a bathroom break. The group waits on no one: friend or foe. It is not that the event is a race or that they have developed some strange desire to get shut of me or drop me, but that there is such a distance to cover. Every extra minute stopped is an extra minute without sleep, a fact I learned well at the last PBP when Dave and I stopped to help a rider who was weaving and falling asleep on his bike. And group riding is just more efficient.

As we pass the controls I think of how I do not anticipate seeing them next year for I have decided to take an easy year next year, and I surprise myself when I find I discern an internal stab of sadness. At one point, early in the ride, I announce that this will be my last PBP. Nobody seems to believe me and I am not sure if I even believe myself, but I worry about whether my body can continue to handle the demands that long distance riding of this type asks of it. Health is a precious gift, one we too often fail to appreciate until it is stolen from us. I wonder if I can continue to maintain the mental fortitude necessary to forge forward even when exhausted and disheartened. And brevets are hard task masters with little forgiveness for those who fail to approach them with the proper respect. I remember the depth of my weariness following the last PBP and how I then understood what is meant by weary to the bone. I remember the faces, mostly unknown, that mirrored my own, exhaustion evident particularly in and around the eyes. I grin thinking of the French man who came up to me at Brest asking how I had stayed looking as fresh as a daisy. Oh, he lied so sweetly.

During the ride, Bill asks me what made me decide to ride PBP this year, a question I am not quite sure how to answer. I suppose the main impetus is my husband saying that he feels I should go or I will live with regret. His life experiences and illnesses have made him wise in some areas, and he reminds me that money is made to be spent as well as saved. Sometimes it seems that our years together have merged our beings so that we know each other as well or better than we know ourselves. Not that he is a spendthrift, but despite being older he does not have the legacy of the Great Depression and of being destitute left to me by my mother. We balance each other.   It helps that he gives me permission so that I do not feel selfish. But there are other reasons, still his words are ever there with me.

"If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world." Thus says Mercedes Lackey, one of my children's favorite authors. I have no need for more "if onlys" in my life. And I am still struggling with the answer to Bill's question because suddenly I find myself desperately wanting to go to Paris once more without really being able to give birth to the words to say why.   Perhaps by giving myself permission not to do the ride, I freed myself to do the ride, if that makes any sense. Tied up in all the reasons is the understanding that I don't want to be left out when I hear Bill, Steve, and Dave sharing their adventures afterwards. While I doubt I will ride much of the ride with any of them, I will still be part of the adventure and there will be a sharing between us that excludes non-participants in some elusive way. I think that one day when I see them no more I will still have those memories, and perhaps the memories will color my dreams and make me smile.

At some point on this first day, Dave King, who had ridden ahead with Tim Carroll at the start of the ride, has joined us. Jeff and David have fallen behind. It always interests me the groups that form at brevets and how porous they are. Not so with the lead group so much, but then there are few that can ride at the pace that Alex Meade, Todd Williams, and Micah Fritzinger can maintain.

When we near the turn around, we begin to discuss what to eat. Subway has been a big mistake every time we have eaten there soaking up precious time. The control is crowded, but I take the time to get a sandwich there instead and we sit outside on the concrete and eat. There is a silent camaraderie and I feel content. At this point in the ride, I always take stock of how I am feeling: legs, feet, knees, shoulders, neck, hands. So far everything is good and I am cheered to have reached the turn around point. The sun is actually shining so I trade my clear glasses for sunglasses. All too quickly, we are back on the road resisting the ever-present temptation to loll a bit longer. It is beginning to get warm, and I think how long it has been since I really sweat on a bicycle from the sun. Sweating feels differently during winter rides or on a trainer: it lacks the cleansing power of a good sweat from a hot day on the bike, a sweat that is somehow cleansing.

I begin to climb the hill to leave Liberty when my chain comes off. Being on a climb, I am unsuccessful at picking it back up without stopping. My stopping forces Bill to stop, and we decide to walk that part of the hill rather than trying to restart on the slope. I really don't mind walking and saving my legs for there are many miles to cover. I think of how we discussed this earlier during the ride, the acceptance of the wisdom of occasionally walking a hill when the slope is steep and the distance to be covered is long.

We make the last control, Harrodsburg, well before dark, and I realize we should reach Lawrenceburg before dark leaving only 37 miles to cover before the control at the motel. For some reason, I am having trouble clipping in and out on one side. It is a scary feeling, feeling like you can't pull free, and I worry that I will hurt someone. Steve suggests that I check my cleat to see if perhaps it is loose, but it isn't. I decide to forge forward anyway, being mindful to unclip well ahead of time. At one point, we pass a half mile stretch that is filled with rabbits. Dusk has drawn them out I suppose and they are cute as the dickens, but I worry that one will run in front of my wheel and that would not be so cute. Every time I think I have seen the last one, I see more, until suddenly they are all gone as suddenly as they appeared.

About this time, Steve begins to drop back, fighting his own personal demon: the growing heat. Almost everyone has some trouble adapting when the thermostat begins to rise, but he has more trouble than most. I have been using the sample pack I got of Hammergel's Fizz endurolytes and they seem to be a good choice for me as the heat feels rather good to me. At one point, I turn around to go back and check on Steve, but the look in his eye tells me to go on and so I do. Bill also starts to cramp and one point and I give him the Endurolyte tablets that I have left having given Steve the majority. I have been lucky and not cramped thus far, but I know how debilitating it can be, as if your muscles grow a mind of their own. Losing control is never a comfortable feeling. I think how glad I am that I am female as it is not expected the we endure in stoic silence the way it seems to be expected of the men.

At Lawrenceburg, Steve catches us just a few minutes after we arrive. Another rider also pulls up when we are about to depart. I don't know him, but I ask him if he wants to tag along as it is safer having a larger group when it gets dark. He says he does, but he does not prepare quickly enough and we are gone. Everyone has put on their reflective gear for the coming dark so we should not have to stop these last 37 miles, and we don't. We end for the night at Waffle House. Bill, Dave, and I decide to have something to eat and to meet in the morning at 5:30 a.m. to take off again. Steve goes to McDonald's thinking it will be quicker. He is right about the speed as Waffle House is filled, but I don't want McDonald's. This should give us plenty of sleep as it is only 10:20 p.m. We have cut an hour and one half or more off our previous 400K time.

After drinking my milk and eating some biscuits and gravy, I head to the motel where I take a quick bath, brush my teeth, and retire. The bed feels so soft and welcoming; I fall into its arms. I briefly notice some stiffness in my shoulders before sleep claims me.   I do not stir until morning when I awaken to the sound of rain and thunder. Part of me does not want to get out of bed. After all, if I sleep a bit longer the rain may be gone and I am thoroughly weary of rain. Rain riding has lost its charm, at least momentarily. Mother earth has cried enough at her birthing pains this spring and I am losing sympathy. It is so hard to start rides in the rain, much harder than riding and getting caught out in the rain. But my friends will be waiting, so I put on the coffee and begin to fix my bike to deal with the wet weather. Once again I cover my tail lights with a plastic baggie held on by electric tape. Even though I read that mounting the lights upside down will prevent the problems we had in the 400K, I am taking no chances.

When I head out to the front of the motel, bike in tow, Bill and Steve are waiting. After seeing how they are dressed, I decide to don arm warmers underneath my jacket. Later I am very glad I did. We brave the storm to ride over to get Dave and head out. The lightening flashes in jagged streaks across the sky momentarily illuminating the world, a natural strobe light. The sound of thunder fills my ears. We head toward Brashears's Creek, the first big climb of the day. Despite the storm, I begin to enjoy myself as the dawn stealthily approaches and a misty grayness blankets the world. It is beautiful, watching the world wake up. It takes immense concentration to ride when there are worms and frogs and storm debris in the road that must be avoided. I am startled out of my reverie as a deer crosses the road in front of me, as graceful as a ballerina. It seems she is close enough to reach out and touch and I briefly worry that she has a friend that will collide with me. I later learn that her friend scampered between Dave and Bill. Dave comments that he has never seen a deer scamper before. And then begins the climb that is only a precursor to the other climbs.

My legs briefly protest the demands I am imposing upon them, muscles shrieking, before acquiescing and smoothing with my pedal stroke. My breathing becomes ragged and I have a moment of fear. The wind is so strong and the hills are so many, and the wind will not only persist but increase in intensity as we make our way to the turn around. So much for the weather prediction on Friday for 6 mph. winds today. What if the wind conquers? I comfort myself with the thought that it is only 63 miles to the turn around and there are others to share the pummeling. After that it should be a wonderful tail wind, pushing me toward completion and triumph. During the brief periods of time when the wind is a cross wind rather than a head wind, I have to concentrate on not letting it grab my front wheel and dump me. It makes me think of Diesel and the century we rode during Hurricane Ike and how the wind blew me off the side of the road at one point. At one point, my brakes are wet and I glide right past a turn yelling to Steve not to turn in front of me. I briefly ponder how it would be unthinkable to have hurt him, my friend, and vow to be more alert.

As we ride, we are passed by the fast guys. Originally they are riding individually. Todd passes first, then Alex, then Micah. The weather caused them to decide not to ride straight through yesterday evening. We later come upon Micah and Bill cracks me up when he tells Micah that he knew we would catch him if we only rode fast enough. For me catching Micah is as unlikely as my beating Lance in the tour: it ain't going to happen. But Micah continues to have flats that slow him. On one of the last climbs, Steve Rice has a flat, and before we crest that hill, I join him. I rejoice that at least it is light, it is not raining, and it is a front tire. Sharp shards of gravel have punctured both of our tires. While stopped with my flat, the man that owns the home in whose front yard we are ensconced comes out to see if we have what we need and tells us we are about 1.5 miles from the turn around. It is nice to remind myself how kind most people are.

At the turn around, we once again come upon the faster riders. Tim Carroll on his fixed gear is there. It is unbelievable to me that anyone can ride this course on a fixed gear bicycle. We take a bit more time at this control and Alex, Todd, and Micah leave before us. Everyone seems to want to eat at Willisburg. It is okay with me, though I am not really that hungry. I treat myself to a package of sugar waffle cookies, a pleasure I rarely allow myself. When we are back on the bikes, I am amazed at the difference having the wind at our backs is making. Suddenly I realize I am also finally all dried out and I glory at not being sopping wet. Earlier in the ride Steve asked me why the birds weren't swarming the roads since there were so many worms on it. I don't know where those worms went, but they are now gone. Does that bird look a tad plumper than on my last pass?

The miles pass quickly and we reach Willisburg. Dave has stopped, but Steve says he is going on. I ask if I can join him and he says it is okay. I will not see Dave and Bill again this ride. I stop only long enough to take off my jacket. When we reach Chaplin, the store is open and we stop briefly. The fast group is there and talk about stopping to save turtles. I tease them about how it isn't nice to call Steve and I turtles. They take off and we sit for a few moments before once again throwing our legs over the bike. I have reached the point where I know that barring a fall, I am going to complete the ride. And I feel good. I ponder this because I did not expect it and can't quite figure it out. I think briefly of a conversation Greg Z. and I had once in the past when we were tired out from a century. While talking of P-B-P we both found ourselves asking ourselves how in the heck we did it when a century can make you so very fatigued. And here I am, near the end of the 600K, and I still don't know the answer.

In the blink of an eye those last few miles have passed and we are checking in at the host motel where we find Susan patiently waiting, her blue eyes shining and congratulatory. Of the starters, only 13 will finish. A sense of accomplishment floods my veins and I find myself grinning and singing as I head to my car for the drive home. I eagerly anticipate a small chocolate milk shake for the trip home. 54 different riders participated in the 2011 Louisville Bicycle Club Kentucky Brevet series. 8 riders completed the entire series: Steve Rice, David King, Bill Pustow, Todd Williams, Alex Meade, Ken Lanteigue, Tim Carroll, and myself. Ken finished on a recumbent and Tim on his fixed gear. We have won our fight this time, and what a fight it was against wind and rain. All in all, I think that if I consider all the 2011 rides combined, it has been the most difficult series I have yet completed. As Edmund Hillary said about conquering Everest, "It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves."

Kentucky 400K brevet 2011

2011-04-10T16:42:00.000-07:00

"Well at least it is supposed to be warmer," I reassure myself as the wind forecasts for Saturday reach the 20 mph. mark. 400K: it seems so improbable, so well, far. When I talk to non-randonneurs about my plans, they look at me as if I have lost my marbles and perhaps I have. Some even believe I am lying. At least I am not alone in my insanity. Steve Rice informs me that 31 people have registered for this ride. Of that number, 30 will start and 29 will be successful. Once again people are coming from different states and even from Canada. 400K: according to many the most difficult brevet distance in a series.

Susan has invited me to stay at their home the night before the event as the ride will start at 4:00 a.m. and I have a bit over an hours drive to the start. I have been hesitant to accept due to my occasional insomnia and have considered the motel, but she is gracious and allows me to make the call on Thursday. I have slept well all week, so I accept only to find myself sleeping three to four hours on Thursday night. "Oh, well," I tell myself, "perhaps that means I will sleep tonight." And I do. Not long after arriving, I am in a comfy, albeit strange bed listening to the first crack of thunder. "How peculiar," I think, the last time I slept in that bed, the night before Johnny's 300K last year, it stormed. And that is my last conscious thoughts before surrendering to blessed sleep.

My bike is ready. With no need for lots of extra clothing, I have decided to go light and forego carrying my carradice. I have added a larger saddle bag and handlebar bag and will stuff my pockets with any excess clothing. I have tools, tubes, and a folding tire. I often think I carry a lot, but later in the ride I will learn that I have nothing compared to Dave, but I am skipping ahead of myself.

The day dawns. Well, not really, as it is still dark outside and will be for a few hours after the ride begins, but the day begins anyway. I eat breakfast and head out with my brown bag of small sandwiches that Susan thoughtfully provided for the ride. Dave and Steve are already gone as I, the slug a bed who greedily snatched every moment of sleep, leave the house, this time without mowing down the mailbox as is my wont. I arrive and test my lights to be sure they are leveled right. If the light is set too high, I can't see well enough directly in front of my wheel, and if it is set too low, I will outrun my light on the down hills. Everything seems to be working. There is a large crowd and it seems I can feel the nervousness and excitement in the air. I see Alex Meade and ask if he is going to PBP this year, and he says he doesn't think so. I commiserate with his indecision saying that it is a lot of money. He says that for him it is not the money that is causing second thoughts; it is the recovery period afterward. I will ponder this during the ride, a ride I had not intended to make until I had thoroughly committed to riding PBP. I still, however, have not made a firm decision.

Registration time for PBP is drawing short, however, with preferred registration opening today and lasting for only two weeks. After today I really must make a decision. Life has just been throwing the normal curve balls at me, but I am not so young and adaptable as I once may have been. Retirement looms, and I know that with the age difference and my husband's health issues, I will probably spend much of that time alone and with one income and I don't want to be a drain on anyone. And if I am honest with myself, like Alex, it is not just the money that causes me to hesitate. The physical demands of a ride like PBP are tremendous, and I am not a spring chicken anymore. I think yet again of a picture I saw of my friend, Greg Z., and the look in his eyes, and I recognize that separation from the self, the sinking deep within during a long distance event. I ask myself if I want to go back there. And then there is the travel. It is not that I don't like to travel, but being alone in a strange land and not knowing the language is uncomfortable for me. If everyone spoke English, it would not be a problem: the inability to communicate haunts me. When I am with others it is wonderful, seeing new sights and experiencing new things; but alone it terrifies me. Such a big baby this woman who rides the most rural of roads in unknown areas with no fear. Last PBP I was lucky enough to run into Alex at the airport. I didn't know him then, but he identified another rider, me, by the t-shirt Claus had sent. In the Chicago airport, there are lots of us with Claus PBP shirts. This year, however, I have decided to forego Claus if I go as far as air flights.

Before you know it, the lot of us are rolling out of the motel parking lot onto the dark roads. Once we leave the city lights, it seems there are stars everywhere shining brilliantly. I think of a quote that I like, author unknown: “I haven't a clue as to how my story will end. But that's all right. When you set out on a journey and night covers the road, you don't conclude the road has vanished. And how else could we discover the stars.” I notice Steve Rice slowing and I wonder what is wrong. He tells me that his light is not working. Once or twice he thinks it is fixed, only to have it die again as we take off. I offer him the light off of my handlebar, but he takes one of Mark R.'s knowing that Mark has two. I don't envy him, riding so many night hours with just a handlebar light. He will make the wise decision to stay with others with better lights for most of the night riding. I think how much I like night riding, this gliding through the dark surrounded by sounds that sometimes you can identify and sometimes you can't, and how I will mourn it for my night vision is another thing that age is gradually stealing from me as it eventually will steal these special friends and our rides together. I am wise enough to know that endings bring new beginnings, but I am also wise enough to know that won't hold true forever and that endings will come more quickly. I spend a moment treasuring what I have, these friends, the awakening world, a husband who not only loves but cherishes me.

The next stop, unplanned, is at the bottom of a valley, Hammond's Creeks, when Dave has a flat tire. Of course it is the rear wheel. It is still dark and the other riders in our group stop and point their lights so that Dave can see to fix it. While I have not been cold while moving, it is freezing down here. Mark looks at his thermometer. I tell him not to tell me until later. Knowing the temperature will only make it worse. As Dave finishes up the large muscles in my thighs begin to spasm from the cold and I know that if I don't get moving I am going to be in trouble. Luckily he is ready to go. Just a bit up the road we pass Jody and Steve pulled over at the side of the road. They also have had some type of problem and have stopped for a repair. I feel guilty not stopping, but I know that my body needs to keep moving to keep warm. I did not dress for long stops or for this temperature. Weather predictions were forties to sixties. Mark will later tell me it was 28 degrees. Jody will later tell me they suffered through three flats and some chain suck. These things are bad enough on a century or shorter ride; they make you feel cursed on a 400K.

Unlike the earlier brevets, the first control in the 200 and 300, Lawrenceburg, is no longer a control; we ride on without stopping. For those who don't understand the term controls, at the start of a brevet you are given a card that must be signed at each control to confirm that you have indeed passed that way. I have plenty of water and the sandwiches as well as other things to eat. I am trying to pay better attention to making myself eat and drink and to practicing this on the bike, and it pays off. Today I feel pretty good up until the last fifty miles, and that was a mental weariness. The first control arrives fairly quickly, and as usual we are in and out quickly. The wind is picking up, and I when I find myself going up an incline at 25 mph without breathing hard I know the return trip is going to be difficult. Earlier in the ride I told Mark that my plan was to try to stick with two or more riders if possible without going anaerobic so that we could take turns with the wind. The cross winds are wicked at times and I find myself putting pressure on the handlebars to stabilize the front wheel. At least the sun is shining and I am not wet.

At one point we pass a field made beautiful by some type of purple flower. There are daffodils and forsythia bushes with their golden branches dancing in the wind. White petals off some type of tree cover the ground like confetti in places and make me think of weddings. The fields are turning brilliantly green and the trees have that tinge where they flirt with leafing out, green bleeding timidly from the branches. We pass two riders at the side of the road. As usual, we ride slowly and ask if they have what they need to make repairs. "No," one man replies. "I am done. I broke my pedal." A few moments later, it turns out that Dave King has an extra pedal, the exact kind that man was using. Dave gives it to the man and he is able to continue. What are the odds? What all does Dave carry in his carradice? I think that I should be using mine to get used to the extra weight, but today I am glad that I did not.

We push onward and the miles fall behind us. Somewhere along the way prior to the second control we find Mark is no longer with us. As we are leaving, he is making his way into the control. We had decided not to eat a meal until the turn around. I worry about him trying to make his way alone into the wind that is going to batter us, but I know I need to stay with the group. I feel strong, but not strong enough to shepherd another rider alone into the wind.

When we reach the turn around point, we run into Chris Quirey eating a sandwich at the control. It looks tasty. Despite this, we decide to eat at the Subway across the street. It was a mistake in 2007 and is a mistake again today. We spend what seems to be an eternity waiting in line to get our sandwiches. I find this particularly irritating as I just am not a big Subway fan. Then we are back on the road to grind up a huge climb, probably one of the few climbs I have ever seen where the grade is actually posted by the side of the road along with the truck warning signs.

As I suspected, the wind at times is fierce, slapping and tugging at me. I begin to see the weariness on the faces of those riding with me. While it is better than the weather on the 300K, the wind and distance are taking their toll. When it is my turn to pull, I try to stay on the front for at least two miles but I feel my strength waning. The guys think we will feel better if we eat something, so we end up at Dairy Queen. I don't feel particularly hungry for anything on the menu, but I force myself to down a cheeseburger and some fries. For some reason I am craving chicken, but I go along with the crowd.

Before you know it we are at the last stop. It is the control that is no longer a control, but we are tired. I insist on sitting for a bit. Tim is there with his fixed gear. But we will never get back by sitting, and after a moment's rest we are back at it. It is dark and we have once again donned our reflective gear and turned on our lights. Despite his poor light, Steve surges ahead feeling stronger than the rest of us. I begin to feel weak, but with the wind I know I must hold the group. It has died down some, but at this point molehills feel like mountains. I finally decide to try a caffeinated energy gel I had brought, and I am amazed at how it revives me. Still, when we pull into the motel I am glad to be there. Those last 37 miles were like a death march. It will be good to get home to my own bed and to smell like a girl again.

Texas Hell Week 2011

2011-03-28T17:45:00.000-07:00

Finally, it is Hell Week. All year long I hunger for this week, but the longing grows particularly intense in the winter when I begin to yearn for color and warmth to dance in into the world once again, for my eyes and ears to be held hostage by the colors and the sounds of life. Winter seems even more cold and forbidding after Christmas is over. Unlike most years, I see only a few people I know at registration, but then we are earlier than normal despite a stop in Austin to lust at a couple of bike stores. I am already settled into my hotel room and have had a quick ride in shorts and short sleeved jersey to the local bike store. Bike stores always make me feel like a kid in a candy store window with my nose pressed against the glass but empty pockets. Three is one day is really pushing it. The new Hell Week jersey is the best looking jersey there has been for a few years now, particularly as it does not have the nasty shade of green that has tragically beset the jersey the past few years, but there is nothing about it that screams Texas so I keep my money in my pocket. I think how I wish Nick would go back to the previous designer.

Following dinner, we make plans to meet in the morning for one of my favorite Texas rides: Windows on Doss. Surprisingly, I sleep well even in the strange bed, maybe because I have brought my own pillow from home. The morning dawns, cloudy and overcast, but warm enough to anticipate shorts and short sleeved jerseys later in the day. My only extra is a wind vest that will be easy enough to take off and carry when the sun burns off the clouds. Bill, Steve, Mike, Dave, and I head off into the morning air. It seems that everyone has a grin on their face and my heart erupts with glee that ends in a giggle that is related to nothing except the exhilaration of being here yet one more time: Fredericksburg, Texas. "Hello, Fred," I shout, and nobody in the group looks at me strangely, one of the nice things about being with friends. Work and home seem like another world, and as always I am glad that I married someone who allows me to pursue those things that make me happy when his health will not allow him to participate except vicariously.

I think about the meaning that Fred has had in my life. Fred was the name of my brother's dog that I loved so. For a moment in my mind his tongue is once again softly licking the tears off my cheek, tears from some teenage angst that seemed important then but now is as distant and painless as another life. For a moment I can feel that black silk of his ears and the curve of his jaw. Fred next became a pet name for my husband after he came home from work one evening yelling, "Wilma, I'm home." And Fred has become the place of bicycles and vacation and a freedom from responsibility that sloughs cares and worries from me until I feel as unburdened as a child, the pack mule put out to pasture at the end of the work week. I want to kick up my heels. I want to gallop and prance on my bicycle pretending I am young and wrinkles have not yet begun to etch my experiences on my face.

For quite some time, it seems as if we are the only riders on the road, as if we are the only people in the world surrounded by the gnarled Live Oaks with their short, stubby branches and hint of green that never seems to actually mature and free ranging cattle placidly lining the road. It is nice when the first people we see are people that I know: Steve Royse, Gay, Johnny B., and Steve Wyatt are ahead. We chat for a brief bit. When Steve W. asks how I am doing, I grin and tell him," I am in love", and indeed I am. I am in love with these Texas roads and the hope of warmth and sunshine. I am in love with vacation and the freedom it brings. I am in love with my friends and the world. I am in love with my bicycle. I grow motherly towards this unmothered world.

Not too long after we run into that group, we begin to see other riders: some from the shorter routes and some not. Before long the pace is soaring. For the first time in years I don't want to go for some reason, but Dave and Steve are off and the rest of us follow. I grin to myself thinking of a few years ago when Bill told us, "You don't have to do this." I find my breath coming in hard rasps that hurt my chest, but when the pace slows I find that despite my reluctance I feel good. I know I don't do enough of these hard efforts, the price of riding alone so often. We slow down and stay together until the store stop where I have the same thing I had the year before: chicken salad.

By the time we leave, the sun has broken through the clouds and the sky is blue. I have needed sun and I turn my face skyward absorbing it as if it were a life-giving potion. We will have all too little of it this Texas trip. Dave and Steve dash ahead and I follow, but I am not able to keep up. Bill and Mike are with me and when we finally regroup, Mike tugs at my heart strings when he says that he can't ride with us, that he is not in our class. I try to explain that the first day is often like this, that I could not keep up this year either and the boys are playing, but I can tell from his voice that he does not believe me and we have lost his company. Indeed, he does not join us again, and I miss his gentle spirit.

Bill and I ride together and Mike trails behind. Before you know it, we have made a wrong turn, at least Bill and I have. It is a long downhill with a tail wind and I am loving it even as I think that I hope Bill was right about where we are going and that I should have turned my cue sheet over. I am flying down the hill, the wind roaring in my ears rather than gently whispering. Alas, we were not supposed to go down the hill and so we turn and climb. I lag behind Bill on the climb fighting the wind that helped me soar like a bird on the downhill. I tell Bill it is like sled riding: the downhill is worth the climb, and even as I say it I think of being a child and Brian and I wishing there was a sled lift to the top of suicide hill, my childhood sledding hill.

Before long, we again make a wrong turn and decide to head back to the motel. We know that Steve and Dave are not doing the route, skipping Luckenbach, but neither of us know the short cut. I am dismayed that we have lost Mike along the way. When I call the guys to tell them we are back to the motel, Mike has found them and I feel much better. I head off to complete my century since we had not gotten one hundred in due to getting off course. By the time I get to the shower, my face has salt crusted on my cheeks from the unaccustomed heat and I delight in the warm water and soap that dissolves the salt and grease and leaves me clean, ready to fuel up.

The second day is the Camp Verde ride, not one of my favorites because of route 173. The roads are rough and the traffic is heavy, but most of the drivers are patient. There are a couple of delightful climbs on Stoneleigh and Center Point. The air is cooler and except for a few brief moments, the clouds cover the sky. Today it is just Bill, Steve, and I. Dave's knee is bothering him again so he takes the day off. One thing I do like on this ride is the lunch stop: Vicki's Burger Barn, but since it is Sunday it is closed. We eat at the gas station instead.

Monday's ride is Mountain Home and Away. Once again it is just Bill, Steve, and I. The first part of the ride is terrible as it is routed along 290, but after that it is a nice ride. The brevet route also follows this course. We see Johnny and Steve W. and wonder why Steve R. was not with them. We later learn that he had a medical problem the previous evening so wasn't riding.

While we are at the first store stop, Dauhna's, a couple on a tandem riding the brevet come in. The woman is quite small, shorter even than I am, interrupts our conversation to tell us the route sucks and ask if there is a way to get back to the start without going back the way they came. Her partner comes in and asks her if he can get something to eat, and she tells him sure. We are giggling at her abruptness and Bill explains it is a cultural thing and spends part of the ride telling me how different people are in other parts of the country. I giggle at his story as he tells about moving to Louisville and people in the stores actually talking to you. Another brevet rider has used all his tubes. Steve gives him one and tells him just to pass the favor on to someone else and not to worry about replacing it.

Further down the road, we come across a dead boar. I stand and get my photo taken and various quips are made. My personal favorite is, "Melissa 1, Boar 0." Steve tells me that he has heard that rattle snakes in the area are learning not to rattle as the boars eat them and are able to locate them by their rattling. While in Texas this time, I also learn that armadillos carry the leprosy bacteria.

Before long we are the Mountain Home Post Office and I know that if we turn right we get to our favorite taco stand. We bicycle by and I ask Bill if he smells it. "What," he says. "The tacos," I answer. I repeat the same to Steve and we decide to take a loop out of the course and to go to Hunt from Ingram instead and get tacos. This is all planned with a vow of secrecy so that Dave does not find out as we know he will be terribly disappointed at missing it. After all, Dave delights in food in a way that very few skinny people do. It is entertaining to watch him.

When we are back on course and at the store stop, we run into a cyclist that accosted me in a previous year demanding to know what route I was riding and what time I left. He makes me nervous and I am glad we leave before him and get away. But that is another story for another time. Let's just say that Steve and Bill made me feel better and had me laughing for hours afterward.

And that is enough for tonight. Hell Week 2011 part II to come. I will conclude by saying we dined at Hill Top and were joined by Gay and Steve R. and it was delightful.

Kentucky 300K 2011

2011-03-09T14:15:00.001-08:00

The Kentucky 300K Brevet

It is the night before the brevet. All week I have been anxiously watching the weather forecast with a growing sense of doom as the probability of rain skyrockets from fifty percent to one hundred percent and the wind speed predictions increase in intensity with one source predicting a possible 20 mph wind. My heart sinks further when the weather man predicts that during the afternoon the temperature will begin to drop rapidly. My only consolation is that there is only a slight prediction for thunder storms. Don't get me wrong: I love a ride in a soft spring or summer rain when the world seems somehow cleaned, freshened, and transformed and every smell is intensified. I am called Puddle for a reason. But I know the difficulties that rain can cause on a long ride, particularly when combined with high winds, darkness, and cold. And while riding through a lightening storm can be exhilarating, it can also be quite scary when it is right overhead and striking all around you making you wonder if you said all your prayers the way you should and if the people who are important to you know that you love them. Perhaps I grow softer with age.

I receive an e-mail from Dave saying he is thinking of skipping tomorrow and just riding the 300K in Texas. I point out to him that there is no guarantee that the weather will be any better and it could be worse. I have seen winds in Texas, however infrequently, that almost took my bike from beneath me. Then to goad him and to emphasize my point, I call him a “wuss” and another not so nice word that actually is quite derogatory toward the female of the species now that I think about it. I grin thinking of how many things I did as a child that I should not have done just because someone dared me or called me “chicken.” Perhaps it was a legitimate way for my three older brothers to try to do away with me, the pest. I always will wonder if they “really” forgot to tell me about bikes having brakes when they put me on my sister's bike, wood on the pedals so I could reach them, and sent me on a first bike ride down a hill on a dead end street where the hill continued with trees and no road after the turn around;-) But back to my story. I have thrown down the gauntlet to Dave(easy for a female to do), but it also solidifies my own commitment to the ride. Meanwhile, Steve Rice and I e-mail back and forth with ideas on how best to dress for the weather. Normally this time of year you start a ride with clothing that you will discard during the day as the temperature rises, but nothing about the weather this year has been normal and tomorrow is no exception. I haven't heard from Bill so I have no idea if he intends to ride or to try to get his 300K somewhere else.

Soon it is time to prepare my bike. The first thing is to put on the clip-on fender that my husband was kind enough to go pick up from Bob down at Clarksville Schwinn. He tells me Bob put it up for me after my call yesterday as they only had one and I send Bob a mental thank you. Of course, I am not allowed to put it on myself, so I find myself directing the installation despite having absolutely no idea how the thing works. Meanwhile, I am praying that we should be doing this as I have learned that it is never wise to try something new on a 190 mile ride. Finally the fender is on, seems secure, and we find a way to fasten my seat bag. The only bad thing about the fender is that it will prevent my using my carradice, a large bag that allows me to carry an assortment of items. This means I must limit what I take and I make the decision to leave the folding tire I almost always carry on rides to be able to carry a spare pair of gloves and socks encased in plastic. I will also take an extra wool top. Some of this I will carry in my handlebar bag and some in the pockets of my jersey. I giggle thinking of the times I have left with my pockets stuffed and my husband telling me it does nothing to enhance the appearance of my derriere, like a hamster only I store myself in the behind region rather than in my jaws. While I have loaned my folding tire to others more than I have used it myself, I worry about leaving it behind, but there just is not any room. I think how hard it is having to ride such a small bike. I also think about how heavy my bike is when loaded, particularly when everything, including my clothing, is wet.

Through my rain rides, I have found that the Planet Bike tail lights are rather undependable when wet so I wrap mine in plastic baggies sealed with electrical tape. I decide that since it will not only be dark but wet, I will bring out the big gun in lights: my hub generator. One thing that my husband has urged me not to skimp on are good lights as he worries about me when I ride, and I have heeded his advice except for these darned tail lights. As it turns out, even with the plastic bag, only one of the lights will be dependable. But that comes later in the tale. For those of you who have these tail lights, following the ride it was suggested on the randon list that they work best if installed upside down as this offers more water protection.

I roll out of bed at 3:45 to drive to the ride start. It rains all the way to Shelbyville and I think how much harder it is to start a ride in the rain rather than starting a ride and then getting rained upon later. I ask what is wrong with me that I am not luxuriating in a warm bed, half asleep, listening to the rain singing on the roof. As usual, I don't have an answer to this question. It is warmer than I expected, however, and not so windy, so maybe it will all work out. When I arrive, the motel room where you sign in is full of people. I am surprised when I find that 22 of the 30 who registered are there. I am even more surprised to find that there are three other women, all on tandems. Jody and Steve are back for more and the two other tandems are from out of town. I think that Jody has a lot of guts. I know she is a strong rider. This is not a good “first” 300 K.

Despite my early start, I get there just in time to sign in and get everything ready. There is a hesitancy in the air while people wonder what they are doing and if they should be doing it. In our heart of hearts, many of us are hoping against hope that Steve will cancel the ride; but that does not happen in brevet riding unless there is significant danger. I know I am not the only one second guessing my sanity heading out into this weather for this distance, particularly since I don't feel 100 per cent committed to PBP. I do, however, decide to keep the door to that ride open. I think of a letter a newer but already cherished friend, Greg Smith, e-mailed to me talking about the meaning of fun on rides. He knows that I am struggling with my decision as far as whether to commit to PBP, and he e-mailed his thoughts on the matter. He worried that I would take offense at his advise, but I treasure it. I can accept advice when it is given with the right intention. It is a cherished e-mail, one of those that you save knowing you will re-read it throughout the years. His point is that there are different types of “fun” from rides. At one point, while listing the types of fun found in rides, he says: “The fun of making it through a tough day. I believe Yvonne Choinard (the founder of Patagonia) said "it's not an adventure until something goes wrong". For better or worse, these are the rides that stick in our memories - where the wind is howling, it's cold, we don't feel good but we manage to keep going. I don't know about you but I remember these a lot longer than I remember the first kind and can usually rattle them off right off the top of my head.” (Greg, I certainly hope you don't mind that I shared some of the wisdom you shared with me. It helped me make the final decision to commit to the ride today if not to PBP.) For Greg is right: some of the rides I remember most vividly are those that were the greatest struggle to complete. There is a satisfaction in overcoming adversity to obtain a goal. I hug this thought to me as Steve gives his ride speech.

The bikes glide into the wet Stygian darkness and over the rolling terrain of Zaring Mill. I know from experience that this road will seem to last an eternity upon the return trip. The rollers will seem like mountains blocking my path home. Steve has cautioned us about the slickness of the metal bridges we will encounter on Oregon Road, but I am just as cautious on the railroad tracks on Zaring Mill having gone down on tracks twice before. I console myself with the thought that it is a light drizzle and not a hard, driving rain, the kind that makes you feel like needles are piercing your skin and severely limits your ability to see and be seen. I am not sure who, if anyone, I will ride with today. I am not sure of anything.

The first control seems to come rather quickly. By that time I am riding with Steve, Dave, and Bill. As usual, we gulp down a drink and some food and get on our way without lollygagging, all that is except Dave who does not do anything in a rush. This haste through controls will become more important throughout the day as we become sodden with rain and stopping means chilling. Funny how rain makes you appreciate a good hill.

By mile 82, I believe I have made my decision. I will finish the ride today barring something unforeseen, but I will not go back to Paris. The wind has battered me and my spirits are low. I know I have not been drinking properly and am dehydrated. I have a hard time drinking on rides when it is not hot, and I have an even harder time when my bottles are covered with grit and road debris. “So what,” I think as I force myself to take a swig; there is already grit in my mouth from the water being thrown from the road. Still I will finish the ride having drank less than ¼ of my bottle. I think that I need to work on this as I am sure it impacts my strength. I begin thinking of food and hoping that perhaps it will help to revive my morale. Alas, when we get to the turn around control, the lady working the control informs us that the woman who fixes the food had decided nobody was going to show and left. The only thing hot I can find is a “ham and cheese” puff. This turned out to be melted American Cheese and ham inside fried dough. “Only in America,” I think as I force myself to down this mess. While it does not satisfy, it does give me strength and I feel better as we depart. Once again Dave does not leave with us and I wonder if he gets tired of chasing, but chilling convinces me that I have to keep moving if I am going to complete this ride. He never really stays with us the rest of the ride, catching us just as we are leaving controls.

For a short while there is a tail wind and the course is relatively easy. All of us delight in this change. Steve counts the riders as they head toward the turn around. He has already gotten a call that a tandem had brake problems and DNF'd. Despite the continuing rain, I see some grins and hear an occasional laugh. I think that despite the rain, this 300K is not as difficult as that of 2007. By the end, I will not be sure if I still feel this way. I begin to rethink my decision about PBP this year arguing with myself that it may be the last time I am physically capable of completing the course and that many of my friends are going. I think of how lucky I am to have a husband who not only tolerates this unusual activity, but supports and encourages me. At one point, the rain ceases for a half hour to one hour, the only time the entire day without consistent rain. I remark to the others that my clothing is beginning to dry. As if to taunt me, the rain resumes and the temperature begins to plummet. My core is warm so long as I keep moving. Indeed, I have a dry shirt I could add; then I remember what I forgot to bring: dry clothing for the end.

At the next to last control, Bill, Steve, and I remain together. When we arrive Tim Carroll is there having waited for company in the dark. Despite the fact he is riding a fixed gear, I know there is no way I can keep up with Tim, but he is welcome to ride with us. He makes a comment about being able to complete the 36 miles left in two hours and I manage a laugh. In good weather in the light perhaps, but in this weather with a wind that has kicked up and is right in my face there is not a chance. We leave the control before Dave arrives. I worry as at the last control he said that he had a mechanical that prevented him from getting into his big wheel, but I am chilling and can't wait. At times rides become about survival. I am beginning to be cold even on the bike, particularly my hands. A few miles out from the control, Steve says he is going to stop and put on another pair of gloves. At this point it strikes me that I have a nice, dry pair of gloves. Manna from heaven. When we stop, I get them out of their plastic cover looking forward to being dry. I almost cry when I find that I am having trouble getting the last one on. The glove I have on is preventing me from pulling on the glove that needs to go on. Steve pulls with me and it finally slips on. I spend the next fifteen minutes thinking how nice it is to have warm hands. I also remember having to help Larry “Gizmo” put on gloves one time when like me he tried an expensive but useless brand.

The wind continues to strengthen and slap us around at times taking my breath away. I begin praying that I don't have a flat tire as I worry that I will not be able to fix it. As I age and my hands lose strength, I find that I am having more and more trouble with changing a flats even in the best of conditions. I have no trouble getting the tire off and changing the tube, but putting the tire back on the rim is increasingly demanding. I know that with hands that once again are chilled, I will not be successful. I have learned not to lie to God telling him that if he just gets me back to the damned motel room safely I will never do this again because I know and he knows I am lying. So I just ride on and ask him to please protect me from flats. I begin to use all the mental tricks I know to pass the time repeating to myself over and over, “courage.” I think of Buddha's quote, “Endurance is one of the most difficult disciplines, but it is to the one who endures that the final victory comes.”

Tim has left us, but we catch up with him on the long climb to Southville. I hate this climb even in the best of times, and tonight I am whipped. My thighs protest at these continuing demands and threaten to fail me, but I know mental fatigue is as or more dangerous than physical fatigue. By this time, I am the only one other than Tim who has a consistently working tail light and I am grateful I took the time to wrap it in plastic. Prior to this, Steve gave Bill one of his lights and I pulled, but now I get relegated to the back of the line. When Bill and Steve get a bit ahead of me they are not discernible from behind. With the wind, I am not sorry to know I will have the draft the rest of the way home and I worry if I will be able to hold them on the climbs.

After an eternity the lights of Shelbyville cause the sky to change colors from black to gray, and we once again cross the railroad tracks that always signal to me the end of the brevet. Tim has dropped us and it is just Bill, Steve, and me. I have never been so glad to see a rather shabby hotel room and Susan's welcoming smile. Tim makes a comment about my snot icycle hanging from my nose. I had long ago given up wiping my nose as there was not a dry stitch on me with which to wipe. I smile knowing that I need to get warm quickly now that I have stopped moving or I will chill. While still there, Scott Howes came in saying that a group had gotten a taxi and decided to DNF. He had been nice enough to stop and help. I later find that of the 22 that started the ride, 9 did not finish.

While I had forgotten warm, dry clothes to change into following the ride, I do have my wool top I did not use during the ride and I always keep a sweat shirt in the car. I also have a pair of dry socks I took on the ride and did not use. If someone had offered me a hundred dollars for these clothing articles, I would have declined. I decide to change in the car as there are others needing to use the motel room. I change and bundle my lower half in the blanket that I keep in the car greatly bemoaning my thoughtlessness in not bringing a pair of sweat pants.

On the way home, despite having the heater on high, I periodically have a bout of shivering. I also am dreadfully tired and force myself to stop and walk around twice during the hour long drive to make sure I don't fall asleep in the wheel. Like a siren, the thought of lolling in a tub full of hot scented water, a warm hug from my husband, and a soft bed lures me onward. I wonder if most people really appreciate these things in the way a randonneur does?

A Cold and Icy Winter

2011-03-02T18:37:00.000-08:00

January has been a challenge this year, mentally and physically.
I am used to getting regular exercise and soaking up the
outdoors to carry me through the sometimes dreary work day. I
am used to some sun, however muted and infrequent, in the
midst of winter rather than an oppressive gray sky that will not
yield. I am used to spending time on the road with a few, close
friends that know the “riding” me rather than those that don't
understand the love of the bike and the road and the freedom
that it not only promises but delivers. When Brian Borgman
was helping me put together my fixed gear (something that I
often think of when I begin to feel there is no kindness left in
the world), he let me pick a saying to put on my bike. It reads:
“My bike takes me places that school never could.” I have
found this to be true.

While there was a day befitting a century the first week-end of
the month allowing me to get my January century in, there have
been few days fit for even a short ride since. This has not been
because of the cold. I can deal with cold and freezing gears; it
was because of the ice and snow that covered the roads
claiming them as their own. Every time the roads would clear,
Old Man Winter would strike back, tatting furiously to lace the
world with white, panting his hoary breath in ragged gasps that
chilled to the bone. At one point, I contemplated joining the
SIW rides at Deem Lake, but trips to Cincinnati to deal with an
aging parent who had fallen always seemed to interfere when
Old Man Winter did not. My poor husband dealt with my sour
mood as I tried to temper it by slipping on running shoes to
travel the roads on foot that were not easily traversable by
wheel. Yes, I have an appreciation for running and the blessed
relief it can bring, the sound of my feet on the pavement, my
breath steaming warmly into the cold air, the chance to soak up
scenery in a way that riding does not allow, but it is no longer
my first love.

This week-end promises temperatures in the 40's and mostly
clear roads, however, and I am elated. There are no available
club rides that tempt, but a small group of friends intend to ride.
These are my favorite rides anyway, the ones where I am totally
comfortable with all the riders and don't have to worry about
stilted conversation and the other things that go along with new
relationships. I have traveled so many miles with these men and
spent so many hours with them that they are like family.
Because of this I know they will be patient with me on the
steeper climbs when I tend to lag despite my best efforts. I
worry about my ability to keep up with so few miles in my legs.
I know the route and I know that it is going to hurt. Larry
“Gizmo” Preble, when speaking of hills, once stated to me that
pain is “an acquired taste.” And indeed, part of me relishes the
thought of the ache in my thighs and the rasping in my lungs
that I am anticipating as a surety for this is a course that is
demanding even when it is midsummer and the legs are strong
and hardened by endless miles and challenges.

We meet at the ride start and as always I am surprised at the
ease of conversation despite the lapse in time since we have
met. I giggle to myself when Dave “Bam Bam” is late and
many times during the ride I think how nice it is that some
things never change, of how sometimes the foibles that define
individuals become part of their personalities and somehow
endearing rather than annoying, particularly and maybe because
of being tempered by absence. These are good friends, and I
never cease to wonder that they are my friends. I love the sound
of their voices, their laughter, and their jokes that cause laughter
to gush out of the deepest part of me, wholesome and real. I
know I will remember this and draw upon it to get me through
the rest of this winter, or at least until Hell Week where there
will be shorts, short sleeved jerseys, and friends.

Carl's Maple Syrup Ride

2011-02-26T16:44:00.000-08:00

Despite a cloudy sky and nippy weather, thirteen (not counting me) showed for today's Maple Syrup ride. On the way to the ride and periodically throughout the day I thought about when I first put this route together. Once that was completed, Grasshopper always co-captained it with me until a few years ago. Everything changes I suppose, but there are those moments that remain in the memory so long as you are alive. It is the moments we remember, pieces of rides and days. And it is the people in many of those moments that tend to make them special, something to treasure when you are feeling alone and overwhelmed as we all do from time to time. Such a shame that some of them drift away when we should cherish them more, but that is the way life is. And just as we remember that they have meant something to us, I suppose they remember that we meant something to them.

As usual this time of year, I was unsure what to wear. It was thirty two at the start, but the prediction was for a partially clearing sky and fifties. I decide to go with my short sleeve base layer. This would have been fine if it had actually gotten to fifty rather than staying overcast and cold the entire ride. For once, I was not overdressed. I can't really say I was cold except when we stopped, but I wished for my soft wool shirt that keeps me toasty even when wet.

I am so glad to see new friends and old. Some of them ride with me all years while others are harbingers of spring as much as the daffodils, crocuses, and snowdrops. I think how I just noticed the daffodil leaves working their way up through the soil getting ready to decorate my yard, delighting my eyes with their brilliant yellows and whites. I don't have as much luck here as I used to have as the soil is so poor, but I still manage to coax the daffodils and grow enough vegetables to put some away for the cold winter months.

Soon into the ride the front group is riding toward me: the way is flooded by the recent rains. This will make for a faster, easier day as we can go down State Road 31, but it will also mean more traffic, less scenery, and less chance to talk. It is a strong group that has showed today. Someone mentions that my post on the list serve scared people away. That was not my intent, but I also wanted to be in before dark.

I giggle as I hear Dave and Steve planning what beers they intend to take to Texas, but I am forced to admit I have bought wine to take along. All year long, as much as I detest the drive, I look forward to a week of having nothing to do except ride my bicycle. All year long I look forward to seeing those friends I see so rarely, normally only in Texas or on TOKYO.

After the first store stop, Mark tells me it is colder. I have not imagined it. Not only is it not going to get into the fifties, but the temperature is dropping. We are able to get back on course and soon the hills take care of any temperature problems. Part of me wishes I had brought my fixed gear, but I could not have held the pace we ride this day.

When we near the festival, the smell of the cooking tree sap wafts through the forest on the downhill and my appetite sharpens. I think that is one thing that I love about riding; it makes me hungry, really hungry. It is not the hunger I have those days when I don't do much of anything but clean house or go to work. It is hunger that signals the body really needs the food to do the work there is to be done. We laugh as a van passes us and the children inside begin screaming as John's new nickname is the Vaccinator.

I think of when I first found the festival on a solitary ride through the countryside. I remember feeling blue and alone when I caught a faint hint of a melody on the air that was tinged with faint but enticing smell that I could not quite put my finger on. Then I saw the sign and followed the arrow, finally arriving at what looked to be a homestead from the past. Now I look forward to it every year.

Soon the pancakes are eaten and we are back on the road, the miles passing quickly. We are done early, before 4:00. Guess there will be some time to do some of the dreaded housework.

Kentucky 200K 2011

2011-02-21T17:02:00.001-08:00

It is Friday night and tomorrow is the first of the Louisville Bicycle Club brevet series. As I check my bike to make sure that everything is functioning as it should, I think how very lucky I am to belong to a club where there is a place for everyone: the distance riders, the racers, the commuters, the Mad Pups, the slow spokes, and more. There are those that cycle 100 miles in a season and those that cycle 10,000 miles. There are those that love the hills and the snaking, rural roads and those that prefer the flats and the city. Every now and then there is the small minded, misguided individual who doesn't realize the intrinsic value of having such a diverse population, but that is so rare in the bicycling community as to be almost nonexistent. For that I am thankful, just as I am thankful for the support of Earl Jones and the executive committee when adding the brevet series to the club umbrella was first discussed.

I am wondrous at the weather. For so long every week-end has seemed to be filled with new snow or ice trapping me inside my home or into putting on my running shoes rather than my cycling shoes. Tomorrow it is to be as warm as an early spring day, and there is to be sunshine, bright beloved sunshine, to wash away the gray that has haunted the winter months, ghostlike, moaning at the cracks and crevices of my old house seeking entry into not only my home but my heart. Tomorrow I will see friends that roam the summer roads with me as well as those that I see only at events such as brevets. Tomorrow they will all gather together, doctors, engineers, social workers, lawyers, and every other profession, united by their love of the bike and the challenge of a hilly distance course.

While I won't need my lights for long with a start time of 7:00, they are required as is reflective gear consisting of a vest or a Sam Brown belt and ankle bands. I never can quite figure out exactly how I should dress, so I throw an assortment in my bag to take with me so I can judge the temperature at the start.

When I arrive at the starting point, there are forty six riders. Some of them I know and some I don't. It turns out that approximately twenty are locals. For many it is their first try at a brevet. I hope it is a wonderful experience for them and that they treasure it as most first accomplishments should be treasured. Chatter and nervous laughter permeate the early morning gray and there are hugs and hellos and introductions. So many different bikes and riders. So many different lights and bags that people bring to the ride. It is delightful to see two tandems: our own Jody and Steve and a couple from Ohio. Two riders have come from Canada to share the challenge and beauty of the Kentucky roads. There are riders from Michigan, Indiana, and Ohio. There are a number of triathletes: John and Susan Pyron as well as Eleanor Wallace, an iron distance triathlete that is using this brevet to recover her form following an accident the previous year. John and Susan will not only complete the course in a bit over nine hours, but will complete and place in a triathlon the next day. I am amazed at the athletic abilities and ambitions of the people here. I think how very many fascinating people I have met through the bike club and through the brevets.

Scott Howes is parked next to me. There is my friend, Tim Carroll, who is riding the course fixed and hopes to attack PBP fixed. There is my friend, Tim Creamer, who I don't believe I have seen since somewhere in France on the way back from Brest when he was suffering severe knee pain. There are the speedsters like Todd Williams and Alex Meade (also a bicycle builder) who finish 130 mile course in seven hours and thirty nine minutes and there are the slower riders who finish near the time limit of thirteen hours and thirty minutes. Claudia Fritzinger is the first woman in, and I remember riding her first brevet with her a number of years ago, a brevet shared by my good buddy, Grasshopper. I think how nice it is to no longer be the only woman at these events. Today there are nine women. Each year it seems to grow. I think how wonderful it is to have events that are not races, but a challenge to the self: you against the course, 13.5 hours.

At the start of the brevet, I sign in, receive my brevet card and the cue sheet, and head outside to wait. If I successfully complete the course today, the card will eventually make its way to Paris and then back to me for my collection of mementos. One nice thing about the Kentucky brevet course is that the route is marked. Indeed, I will not use my cue sheet throughout the ride. This is thanks to Steve Royse and Bill Pustow who marked the course this year.

The ride is splendid with lots of climbing. Warmth begins to wrap itself around me, delicious and welcome, and every time I see a rider I know it seems they are dressed differently as layers are shed and varied. At one stop, Bill and I will laugh when we look and Dave has clothing spread out across the sidewalk while he tries to figure out how to carry it all without continuing to wear it. A friend and I decide to walk Oregon Road Hill on the steep park and are busted by Dave who takes a photo of our shame, but I have no shame. I know I can climb this hill. Indeed, I climbed it just the previous week-end, but today I am in no hurry. Strength will come and yes, it will take effort, but there is also time to walk now and then. I think how hard this hill is in the spring and how I can bounce up it in the summer with no thoughts of walking or using my triple. A song by Miley Cyrus comes to mind: “There's always gonna be another mountain,I'm always gonna wanna make it move, Always gonna be a uphill battle Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose, Ain't about how fast I get there, Ain't about what's waiting on the other side, It's the climb.”

While I would like to be in before dark and the return of colder air, I have all day. Today is dedicated to the vibration of the road, the company of friends, and the warmer weather. We moved quickly through the first control, but we decided to have a long, sit down lunch. I know we will see Mark Rouguex, you know the nice guy who climbs like a monster, mocking me with his big ring when I am struggling to turn the cranks in the middle ring, and whose last name I can't pronounce;-) Mark was nice enough to ride the week-end before and volunteer at the turn around. He woos me with Milky Ways, and today I give in despite the winter muffin top that plagues me more and more with age. Sometimes I wonder why I ever rush on rides when it is so nice to be out with friends on a bicycle with the sun on my face and the wind whispering her secrets in my ears, but then I remember the occasional exhilaration of pressing the pace until my lungs ache and my thighs beg for mercy. I remember feeling like Lance when I attacked a hill intent on conquering it. Oh, yeah, bicycling is so many different things even to the same rider.

Before I know it we are rolling into Shelbyville long before it seems 130 miles should be behind us. I know Susan Howell will be at the end manning the sign in. Another club member willing to give of her time to help others accomplish personal goals. I think how I have missed her company this year, for last year she completed the 200 and 300 K brevets with me. I have enjoyed the day, but I look forward to a hot shower and the scent of shampoo and soap wafting in the warm moist air. I will go home, shower, put on my pajamas, and savor this accomplishment. I will wonder if I will successfully complete the 300, 400, and 600 and what I will learn about myself and my friends either through my success or failure.

In January

2011-01-14T16:16:00.000-08:00

Winter drags on. The earth that can be so yielding and warm is stone hard, unforgiving, and relentlessly cold. It is hard to imagine flowers breaking through that barrier and reclaiming the world though I know that each has its season, that despite its stubbornness, winter must eventually yield. But it is not the cold that keeps me housebound and off my bicycle; it is the ice and snow. This winter it has seemed that no sooner have the roads cleared than a new storm hits, sullen and gray. I am desperate for the road and the solace that it brings.

I worry about the winter weight gain and the loss of fitness. I worry about how I will ever be able to do the early brevet series that I have planned to get to PBP for my swan song. I think of how difficult it will be to go back into that pain and remember being alone in the dark night on my way to Brest, wrestling with the rolling terrain and a desperate desire to sleep, to lay by the side of the road despite the ever present rain. I think how few people really know what it is to be truly weary: mostly soldiers and distance athletes I suppose. I know that despite all the running and triathlons I completed before PBP, I had only been rendered tired, not weary.

Today I finally get out the door for a short ride. The side roads still have icy patches, but I know that if I can make it to 39 the road will be clear. Despite the flatness of the course I can feel the loss of fitness, but I am happy to be here, to feel my muscles working and my lungs steadily taking in and giving out air. Health is such a blessing. Everything is gray and colorless, yet once again I spot the owl winging through the tree branches. I stop to take a picture, breathless yet again at his beauty and still surprised at the gift of seeing him, but as I pause he once again takes flight and I lose sight of him.

I don't have much time before sunset, but I rejoice in being able to be out here. I just can't discipline myself to the trainer. A new batch of icy weather is predicted in a few days. But I am thankful for today, the wind on my face, the sweat on my skin. Alive.

The Christmas Breakfast Century

2010-12-07T18:09:00.000-08:00

For a number of years now, the first week-end in December is my Christmas Breakfast Century ride. It is normally on Saturday as so many restaurants in this area are closed on Sunday, a token of respect to a past that no longer exists, kind of like the tip of a gentleman's hat. Some years we are able to ride all of it, some years we are able to ride part of it, and some years I have had to cancel and reschedule. Sadly, this year was a cancellation year.

Until recently, I did not put up a Christmas tree until a week or two before Christmas. By putting the tree up only a couple of weeks before Christmas, the children did not become overly excited in that way that can make them irritable and hard to please. It also was a safety precaution as from the time the children were babies, we went and cut down a live tree, and live trees can be fire hazards if left too long.

Christmas is about traditions, at least in our family. Each year we would pick a week-end to go cut down the tree. My husband would half-heartedly complain and accuse us of studying the weather forecast to pick the coldest week-end of the year, and inevitably it almost always was freezing and windy. The weather could have been warm and dry all week, but let it be the tree cutting week-end and the winds would pick up and the temperatures plummet. (Seems my ride has continued this tradition;-) Despite the cold, the children would insist on walking the entire acreage of the tree farm looking for the perfect tree. Inevitably it had a crooked trunk or some other disability that made it nearly impossible to get it to stand straight and tall in the living room, but when it was decorated it no longer mattered: it was unfailingly beautiful. Our home would be redolent with fresh pine and sugar cookies baking. And there are the other Christmas traditions: the baking of Christmas Cookies, the watching of "Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol, the unwrapping of the manger set, etc. In my heart, the Christmas bicycle ride has joined these traditions, though it is a tradition celebrated with my bicycling family rather than my blood family. My husband's health problems led to the artificial tree, but my breakfast century lead to the early tree trimming.

The tree may not be beautiful to others, but to me it is a string that connects the years that I have been upon this earth. It contains ornaments my children made when they were little and even ornaments that I remember making myself in kindergarten, and it is laden with memories as much as with colored balls.

I begin accepting reservations for the breakfast in mid-November. I inevitably fill up the main table. My home is small, and I limit the ride to the main dining table (seats six) and two card tables (seat eight more). I normally get reservations for more, but the weather turns and they cancel. Not many are willing to brave an entire day in the winter chill on a bicycle.

The day before the ride I get out my best china and the few serving dishes I inherited from my grandmother and set the table. I go to the grocery and make sure everything is ready for the morning. I enjoy this preparation, the shining of silver that passed through the hands of women of my family before me. There is so little I have from my father's side of the family, and I inevitably send mental blessings to my Aunt Fay who shared these with me. The cleaning leaves me tired, but tired in a good way as it will lead to fruition through sharing with my friends. Inevitably memories of previous Christmas centuries float through my thoughts: the year it rained a cold rain the entire ride, the year we got in right when night was claiming the earth, the year we turned around after 25 miles and rode back through a beautiful snow, the journey taking as long as a normal century would take.

This year the Christmas breakfast was not to be due to weather predictions for snow, weather than came true leaving an inch or more on the ground. I reschedule for January, and if the weather does not cause me to cancel that ride, I will enjoy it; but it will not be the same as my normal Christmas century. I grieve the cancellation, but it is better than seeing a friend get hurt due to my making a foolish decision.

Solitary Ramble

2010-11-12T14:05:00.000-08:00

The sun was shining, the weather was incredibly warm for November, and I was off work, so I decided to go for a solitary ramble. There will not be many more days like this before cold weather begins and it would be a shame to waste it. Why is it that almost any nice day off the bike has come to seem wasted to me? Sometimes I wonder if my life has become unbalanced, but I can't deny that I am happy on the bike with the sun embracing me and the scenery unfolding, God's masterpiece. Originally I intended to go ride the club ride, but some things came up. Frankly, I was not sorry. My only regret was not getting off in time to round it out and do a century.

I worry that I have come to enjoy these solitary journeys as much as I have. That was one reason I was glad I had such an enjoyable ride with companions last week-end. Do my friends feel me slipping away from them? Do I feel them slipping away from me? There is no doubt that I love my companions, these men who share the road with me. But while I love them, I know that their presence in my life is temporary, a gift to be treasured. Or is it just the melancholy that tinges this time of year. All I know is that I need this time occasionally, time to process things.

Vernon

2010-11-05T15:23:00.000-07:00

A Fall Ride
by: Melissa Puddle Hall

It is going to be one of those fall days when you feel guilty if you stay indoors: crispy cool in the morning and warm in the afternoon with sunshine, lots and lots of sunshine. It is not the harsh sun of summer, or the anemic sun of winter, or even the welcome but tender and untried sun of spring, but an embracing sun that makes you warm throughout the essence of your very being. I think of a quote by Nathaniel Hawthorne: “ I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air.” I know I will be too cold in the morning if I don't wear leg warmers, arm warmers, and a vest, but I know that I will carry them with me in the afternoon and what is now my delight will become my burden. Thus I pack accordingly for I am going exploring today. Sometimes it is nice to be alone, to ride the pace you want, to stop when you want and take a picture or to take in a particular scene, to think without interruption. I have never been to Vernon so last night I poured over the maps trying to find a nice route much more organized than my normal meandering voyages of discovery, but daylight is short. It is getting where it is more difficult to discover roads I don't know though I sometimes think that is due to a tendency to adhere to routine rather than the lack of roads, but today I will find a few.

Early in the ride, on Lake Road, I see something sitting in the road ahead. Being nearsighted, I struggle with what it is. It is too big for a cat, but does not really look like a dog though he sits like one. As I get closer, I see it is a fox, his bushy tail larger than his torso. I roll closer and closer and am uneasy as he does not move but is obviously alive. I assume he has gone to the pond across the road from the wooded area to drink as the drought has dried up many of the creeks I will pass during the ride. I worry that he is rabid and I wonder if I should pass when he finally spots me and streaks off into the forest, melting into the trees, a flash that leaves you wondering if you imagined the whole thing, like seeing a ghost. I am sorry to have startled him out of his morning reverie as that is one of the things I have been looking forward to on this ride, that and the fall scenery. In all the miles I have covered on my bicycle I have only spotted a fox twice, and I decide that it portends a good day.

The fall scenery does not disappoint. Whether the leaves are turning from the season or the drought, they are turning and beginning to spot the roads in places. Occasionally the road is stained by crushed walnuts, persimmons, and acorns. Halloween decorations are everywhere and it brings back memories from my own childhood and from that of my children. I remember taking my children trick or treating, their eyes aglow with excitement and anticipation. How much the holiday has changed for when I was a child it was the night to be out after dark with no adults to supervise, running wild. There were no thoughts that anyone would purposefully hurt a child. I recall the fun of decorating with my children, carving pumpkins and making dummies from old clothing, straw, and a plastic pumpkin. Old sheets made great ghosts. Halloween was a time for creativity and creation, not buying from a store. I think of how my now deceased cat, Christmas, would sit in the lap of the dummy we made on a fine fall day, languidly basking in the sun that was sure to disappear in the near future. I thought about my husband cursing through his grins when he came home from night and the ghost we had hanging in the drive banged into his truck windshield frightening him. By the time I awaken from my thoughts, miles have passed and I am on to new roads and places I have not been before.

All too soon I am home, hungry as can be for I did not stop for lunch today. My husband is there to greet me. However many more days such as day I will have, I believe I will always be greedy for more. Does fall touch me so with such a nameless hunger and poignancy because of the recognition that it is fleeting or because of being in the autumn of my own life? Another thought to ponder on another ride on another day. For now it is enough to be home and embraced with love, safety, and warmth.

Natchez Trace 1000K

2010-09-27T14:13:00.000-07:00

It has taken me a couple of days to pack for this ride and even longer to prepare for it. I am unsure of the wisdom of riding as I am recovering from a summer cold that has gone through my office like the plague. I am better, but I remain listless and weak. I have had no desire to ride my bike for days. My husband urges me to cancel my plans for this ride as he worries that I will end up seriously ill. It is not the best way to leave home for a ride, and I know he is really worried or he would be laughing at my fears, calling me a candy ass, and hurrying me out the door.

I debate driving myself or riding down with Dave King and Steve Rice. They have asked me to ride with them, but I fear I will make them wait at the end. I despise being a bother to anyone, and I fear running up a debt that may require a payment I cannot afford, but slowly I have come to trust these men. Nobody really wants to wait around after such a long ride, but I decide to chance being able to keep up. After all, I have been riding strongly this summer and have adapted well to the heat. We meet at Dave's house on Wednesday morning and head for Tennessee in the "man van." It is strange to drive these roads and it not be cold outside, myself tingling with anticipation of Hell Week and seeing people I don't often get to see. I enjoy Steve and Dave's company, but I continue to question if I should have driven down myself, perhaps because not having my own car commits me. No turning around at this point.

We decide to visit Gran Fondo, the bike shop where I bought my Lynskey, on the way to the motel. I never dreamed I would own such a bike, though I have struggled with finding a comfortable saddle for it. I have not been in the shop since it was flooded earlier this year. The shop owners are hosting a dinner tonight, and while a part of me would like to go, the stress of meeting new people combined with our hope to be in bed and sleeping by the time the banquet ends means we decline. I am surprised to find that Lynn remembers me. His wife is at the shop and shows us a video of the start of the Trace as we will be passing that part of the road in the dark. It was kind of her and I enjoy the beauty of the scenery in the video. Following a bout of lusting after different bicycles that I would love to own and picking up a few odds and ends, we head to the motel.

At the motel, I feel a ghost of myself giggling inside at the look of the desk clerk when I tell him I want a 1:30 a.m. wake up call. I finally fall asleep about two hours before the wake up time. The ride starts at four and bike check in is even earlier, so following a wake up call I reluctantly drag myself out of bed wondering what in the hell I am doing here. I have mixed feelings about this ride: excitement and dread. The Lord works in mysterious ways because with the lack of sleep and the heat prediction, I probably would have rolled over and tried to go back to bed if I had a car to escape in. Instead I roll my lazy rear out of bed and get dressed.

We head over to the ride start and the excitement in the air is almost tangible. Grins light faces. The guys tease me about the other women looking fitter, prettier, and faster. They know that despite my best intentions I am competitive, at least at times. I know it is not a race, but to me everyone here looks more capable of completing this course than I do, particularly the other woman. Normally this type of teasing doesn't bother me: the wall of good things my husband and others helped me build to shut out the worst of my insecurities is fairly strong, but today it does. Sometimes I trot them out, one by one, examine them, then wrap them carefully and put them away for the next time, these good things people have said that justify my right to exist comfortably in this world as do other people. On this ride, I will find at least one thing to add to them.

We roll off into the moonlit night in our reflective gear, a sea of white and red lights and orange vests and straps. The full moon is beautiful and will watch over us each evening, sometimes orange and sometimes ivory white. Soon we hit the Natchez Trace. I have been excited about seeing the Trace since it was mentioned in a couple of novels by one of my favorite authors: Greg Iles. The route was described as gently rolling, and I am surprised to find myself struggling on climbs. Normally it is the steep climbs where I have trouble keeping up with people, not the long, gradual climbs. I blame it on my illness. I blame it on weakness. The group has not yet split much into smaller groups as it will. I follow red tail lights, some steady and some blinking. At times I see one of the riders I know, at times I ride by myself. I finally decide that with 267 miles to cover today, I need to decrease my effort and drop back.

I ride by myself for most of this day. I don't see Steve after the first few miles. I see Bill once or twice. Dave being Dave and one of the best people I know pulls me for a bit, but I just can't keep up on the hills. I am glad to see him finally ride off. The sun comes out and the heat intensifies. At one point, I find myself crying as one of my greatest fears is no longer being able to keep up with the people I ride with regularly and it appears it has come to pass. Thoughts of no longer going to Hell Week and having their friendly companionship haunt me. I ask myself if it is the added weight of a filled carradice as I always tend to over pack that is slowing me down or am I just giving in to age and weight. Finally I tell myself to suck it up and I pull myself together. I think of Greg S. saying riding is supposed to be fun. I think of Greg Z. telling me about when he quit ultra distance riding and decide that this might be my Swan Song. From what I remember is he was part way into the ride, knew he could finish, but found he didn't want to as he was no longer having fun. I know I can and will finish this ride barring a mechanical or anything unforeseen, and if they have to wait they have to wait, but I doubt I will ever do a ride of this length again.

Goosebumps begin to cover my arms, my reaction to overheating. I decide to pull over and try to find a patch of shade and eat something from my handlebar bag as there is little to eat on this ride. It is hard to make myself drink because the water is hot and nasty tasting, but I continue to force myself. The Trace offers only the occasional warm water to drink and bathroom. There is no food, vending machine, or ice. Suddenly a truck pulls over and offers me a cold soft drink. I have a Sprite and I feel my core temperature lower as I drink. I hit the road again revived, at least for awhile. In my mind I thank Packman for his hint on the use of Sprite to settle a weary stomach and assuage thirst. I think of my brother, Chris, the dentist, and how he will hate the cavities that are probably eating up my teeth right this very moment. Despite the head wind, there is not a dry stitch of clothing on my body. At times the sweat escapes my headband and drips into my eyes burning. At some point before Tupelo, I run into Chris who has started suffering from leg cramps. We stop together for a short time, but my company is not good for him. I can't seem to pull myself out of the mental slump I have ridden myself into. I begin to think of getting a motel at Tupelo and renting a car and driving home. Normally I am encouraging to others even when I feel badly, but not today. Today I am a wet blanket.

Chris takes off and I head down the road. In not too long, I find him once again off the bike, cramping badly. I debate stopping, but I decide there is nothing I can do to help him physically and in my current mental state, I can barely help myself. I do ask and he assures me I can be of no assistance. I ride on toward Tupelo wondering if a hot meal will change my perspective. I am sick of gels and the stuff in my handlebar bag. I want food, real food. I pass one of the women who pulled me up to Chris and Dave one time earlier in the day. She is at a rest area looking tired and defeated. Her head is bowed. I call and ask if she is okay and she answers that she is. I ride onward hoping to make Tupelo before dark as I don't like busy roads in the day time and I like them even less at night.

On the way I do notice beautiful scenery. I don't believe I have ever seen cotton growing before. At first I think it is white flowers of some type. I cross the Tennessee River and photograph some Native American Mounds. But I am glad to reach Tupelo. The song "Tupelo Honey" runs through my mind as I pull into KFC to get a meal. Someone had suggested Pizza Hut, but I don't see it and I am not riding any farther to find it. Inside are two small children who are quite impressed with my arriving via bicycle. They are cute as buttons, and I find myself smiling in spite of my mood. As I eat, their father begins questioning me about my journey and tells me that what I am doing isn't very safe. He is obviously amazed at the challenge and somewhat unsure of my sanity. The children tell me another cyclist has arrived and I am happy to see it is my friend, Steve Royse. I think of the irony. Steve pulled my sorry rear during the last few miles of PBP and here he is again, my hero. He is always so positive and such a steady rider. We decide to ride the rest of the way in together.

When we leave KFC, Steve pulls me awhile blocking the head wind. I feel rather guilty sitting behind him and not taking a turn, but he says he doesn't mind. I think how he is one of the kindest and gentlest men that I know. Dusk is upon us when we head out, and soon the wind dies. The road, however, becomes increasingly rough and my behind begins to protest at each crack in the road. We talk for awhile which helps to pass the down, but I am longing for a shower and bed. Still it is nice to ride through the night with someone you like. Somewhere near the end of the days ride, my GPS bonks. We get a tad lost when we make our last turn, but we finally find our way into the overnight control at French Camp. Inside there are turkey and cheese sandwiches and drinks awaiting. We briefly refill our bellies, and head toward the showers and bed. Steve says he is leaving before breakfast. I know this would be a big mistake for me. I leave a note for Dave, Bill, and Steve Rice telling them not to wait. I figure I will sleep and decide if I will continue or head back to Tupelo and make my way home.

In the shower cabin, I meet some of the other women. Luckily, there are so few of us that we can all shower at the same time and nobody has to take a top bunk. Before I know it, I am asleep.

I awake to the sound of someone else's alarm and the sound of cleats on a wooden floor. I had meant to sleep a bit longer, but I decide to go on and get up. I still am congested from my cold and I hope I did not keep everyone up all night. Sleepily, I dress then head over to the main cabin to get some breakfast before taking off. After some coffee, bacon, egg casserole, and a biscuit, I am ready to head out. As I get ready to leave, I decide to look one more time for the scraping noise that I kept hearing the prior day. I had checked my front brakes and my rear brakes. I notice that my carradice has sagged between the bars of my carradice holder that keeps it off my rear wheel and has been dragging on my wheel. No wonder I felt so weak the prior day: I was riding with the bag rubbing my rear wheel. Luckily I have gorilla tape and there is enough to put tape over the holder to hold the bag up.

I have a definite and immediate mood improvement after this discovery. As I head toward the turn around at Red Dog Road, I find I am smiling again. Not too far down the road, I am passed by a group and I grab their rear wheel. I will end up riding with these two men for the first part of the day and find they are both named Tom. While both are much stronger cyclists than I am, they are tired from a quick pace the previous day. We stop at the first available store on the way back and eat sandwiches. The woman in the store gives me some duct tape to ensure that my carradice does not drag. I tell them to go ahead while I make this repair, but they are kind enough to wait. We stay together until we once again reach French Camp where one of the Toms decides to stop. We had already discussed our intentions to ride at our own paces today, so I head onward. The other Tom also continues, but he is riding faster than I am. About six miles out from the water stop, however, he decides to rest in the shade. It is tempting, but I want to move on while I am feeling half way decent. I head onward to the water stop there encountering Steve Rice. I tell him I intend to stop and get a sandwich at Subway. He says that is where Bill went and maybe he should change his mind and eat as well. We head to Subway and meet Bill and Joe. At least I think Joe was there. Maybe it was Tim Carrol. I find I tend to become confused during long rides and everything begins to blur together.

During this time I begin to worry about Chris. I know he came in last night and I saw him getting ready to head out this morning, but I did not pass him on my return trip to French Camp. Bill and Steve say Dave is behind as well. There is nothing I can do for either of them, but I hope they are okay. I know it bothers Steve as well, but there just is no way to check on everyone. We ride together picking up the pace about 20 miles outside of Tupelo. By the time we reach there, my lungs are burning and I am about to throw in the towel and ride by myself. I question whether hanging on was a wise decision on my part.

While we are in Tupelo, we pick up LeRoy. We again eat at KFC. LeRoy, Steve, and I will finish out this day together while the others surge ahead, though we do meet again at a water stop. If I remember correctly, this is where Tim Carrol joined the group. At one point, Steve is feeling very badly from the heat and we pull over to rest. A ranger sees our lights and pulls over to check on us. He is truly interested and concerned and talks about how visible the riders are due to their lights and reflective gear. He will follow us through the rest of the evening pulling over cars that are driving dangerously or too fast. It is refreshing to find a law enforcement person who believes we have a right to be on the road and who wants to be sure we are safe.

At one point, it begins to rain gently. I notice how you can smell the rain mixed with the road, and I point out to Steve the steam that is swirling about one to two feet off the ground. We enjoy the rain as it cools us, and it is too brief, almost like a dream. It is so warm that there is no concern about rain gear.

Finally we reach the last control. The ride through the state park takes what seems like forever. It is dark and at one point I check to make sure my light isn't broken, but it is just the moon hiding behind clouds. After quickly grabbing a ham and cheese sandwich, I am taken to a cabin. I am the first woman in (other than the two that were riding straight through), so I make up my bed on the bottom of a corner bunk, shower, and hit the sack. I can smell the mold in the air and before long I can't breath through my nose, but I do go to sleep. In what seems like a few minutes, I awaken to the sound of a male voice. I wonder but decide it must be one of the other women's boyfriends seeing her to bed. Then I hear lots of men's voices, even in the bathroom.

This leaves me wondering what to do. Obviously there has been a mistake. I don't want to get up and move. I was here first and it was supposed to be a woman's cabin. I don't really want to make them move because they are tired as well. I debate just going back to sleep and not saying anything, but I decide that might not turn out so well either. Finally I announce that I am there and they can stay if they want but please remain covered in the common area. I giggle inside as I hear the shock in one man's voice in the bathroom when someone says, "There's a chick in here." Long time since this old woman has been called a chick;-) Eventually I fall back to sleep, but in what seems like moments I awaken to the sound of a hard rain. I hurry to the bathroom before the guys get up, get dressed, and head through the rain to breakfast.

The next day is spent mostly with Bill, Dave, Steve, Joe, LeRoy, and Tim. We ride with a few others on and off, but mostly stayed together. Joe and Dave take off near the end. Tim drops back and then catches us. I am able to keep up on the climbs, though at one point I do get very tired and wonder if I need to drop back. This is the day I see wildlife: turkeys and deer. It is the short day, but I still am glad to climb off my bike at the end. The volunteers at the end are warm and welcoming, but I want to get to the hotel and shower. Steve and Dave are kind enough to agree to let me go ahead with Bill and check in and say they will load my bike. Dave later teases me about being my "bike boy." We all go out to eat at a steak house afterward. I could sleep, but it is probably good for me to eat though my stomach is sour. It is so nice to be clean and smell like a girl, to rub lotion on my skin, to sleep in a real bed that doesn't smell of must and mold.

The next morning we are off to the Loveless Cafe for a wonderful dining experience. I don't think I have ever had fried chicken for breakfast before. I am glad we stayed for this experience. But I am glad to hit the road for home, and even gladder to get home.

Challenge Series 2010

2010-09-11T07:01:00.000-07:00

he Merango Mangler: Day 1 of the Challenge Series.

Off to the ride start with a smile on my face, unsure what or whom to expect today with so many conflicting rides on the schedule. Life is about choices, and most people don't love distance as I do. As usual, just the fact that I have five days to ride and not have to work makes me happy. I feel as if I were a child let out from school for summer vacation, long ago when summer vacation seemed like a lifetime, only now I know how quickly time goes by and the only certainties are death and taxes. I don't know why, but I love being on my bike the majority of the time and I know today will be no exception. The weather is good, the course, while difficult, is gorgeous; yes, life is good.

Upon arrival, the one face I was expecting, Steve Rices, was not there. (Sorry, it appears my apostrophe/quotation marks key has quit working). Roger Bradford, three time challenge series rider participant, is there as is Bill Pustow, but no Steve. As the time draws near, Steve pulls into the parking lot, but he is not wearing his happy face. In fact, he looks decidedly unhappy. He has that look on his face that made me afraid of him when I first met him, before I came to know what a fine person he is. I later find the face is because he had driven to the wrong ride start and added miles to his already long journey. This century is already one of the most difficult centuries with Bartles Knob and some of the other tough climbs, but for the brevet I tweaked it starting it from Scottsburg and adding Pixley Knob and Liberty Knob to the mix. Steve has driven to Scottsburg as he did on brevet day and has had to turn back around and drive to Memphis, the rides normal starting place. Still, having ridden both courses, I am sure he would rather do that than ride the brutal brevet route.

For those of you who are wondering why I was so sure Steve Rice would be at the ride, he is attempting to break my current record for riding the most club centuries in a year. If, and I say if because as I will explain later, he continues to have problems that impede his progress, all goes well for him he should break the record in October. But time will tell. As they say, it ain't over until its over.

This morning is a morning made for riding with a coolness in the air that tells of falls incipient arrival. The sky is bluer than blue. Of the four of us who show, all of us rode a century on Saturday and Bill and Steve also rode yesterday. I grin a wicked grin thinking of my fresh legs. Sometimes it is nice to put the hurt on the boys the way they put it on me sometimes in the winter, fall, and spring. Fresh legs and hot temperatures for the afternoon will empower me to be cruel if I so decide though I know I will not pick this option. Sometimes it is just nice to be reassured that I am not always the weakest link, to know that I could if I had to or wanted to. I know all three of these men well and I know what strong riders they are.

I grin as I see Rogers new Rain Storm jersey and hear of his adventure. I regret not having brought my camera as I meant to do as it is a really cool jersey and I would have liked to have gotten a picture of him. For those that don't know, Rain Storm is a series of five century rides in Indiana that culminate on day six in doing RAIN, thus Roger has ridden 660 miles in six days. Way to go Roger! I ask if the Challenge Series was part of what gave him the courage to attempt this difficult ride. Of course, he tells me yes, but Roger is such a nice guy he could be saying that to be nice. It is, however, one reason for the Challenge Series, to build confidence. I remember my first back to back and it was only Mark Astro Medleys promise not to leave me that gave me the courage to ride.

After the normal struggle with what to wear as it is cool in the morning but will be hot by afternoon, I decide on a light wind vest. We take off into the morning toward Palmyra, the first store stop. As always, the view at the top of Bartles Knob almost takes my breath away. Views like this are one of the things that make me feel sorry for those that only ride flat courses because the hilly rides tend to have the prettiest scenery, or maybe it is just oxygen deprivation that makes it seem so. The air is clear and you can see for miles. We all stop for a couple of us to take our wind vests off. I know this group will stay together today and that is a nice feeling.

We reach Palmyra with no mishaps and following a couple of major climbs. For some reason, I find I am climbing well this year. I am a few pounds heavier than normal so it makes no sense other than the early, hilly brevet courses this spring. Or perhaps it is the relaxed pace. For whatever reason, I don't really struggle with any of the climbs today. I chuckle at the difference in the dogs. During this hot summer, they either were too hot to chase or would come out and half halfheartedly chase the front rider, but this morning they are all piss and vinegar and ready to have us all for breakfast. Passing a yard with a fence, we think we are safe when a jack terrier type dog decides to take us on. He climbs on the back of the larger dog, then struggles over the top of the fence. I am laughing and trying to ride hard at the same time, not a good combination, and I am glad he is not serious about breakfast. In fact, everyone is laughing at this little dog and his creativity in escaping captivity.

It is not long after this that Steve finds his saddle has slipped. While he is fixing it, either Roger or Bill notice that he has what may be a crack in one of this tubes on his bike. This is the same bike that failed before. Without sanding, we cant really tell if it is a crack or a paint problem, and he decides to continue. It is not good news if it is a crack because he has a 1000K planned in a few weeks and that means riding a different bike. Trying to find some humor, I ask Bill if he thinks perhaps God wants my record to stand as Steve has had such bad luck with bike failures and rides being canceled this year. Of course, I am asking the man destined to return as an amoeba and I fear I have just doomed myself to the same fate through my sacrilege.

We reach the new lunch stop after the climb up Depot Hill. I love the way you see the hill loom before you on the descent, snaking upwards as far as you can see. It makes me think of Grasshopper the first time we rode this route and thinking to myself, Oh shit, what have I done. One of my favorite pictures from last year is Roger climbing this hill. Tinas is closed today because of the holiday, so we try Vans Country Table. The parking lot is full which looks promising. All of us decide to try to the cheeseburger, though the hot brown special tempted me. It was good. I try to decide if it is as good as Tinas and I think it is. It is hard to tell when you are not really hungry, and for some reason appetite evades me today. This moves Willisburg down even another place in my estimation. By the time lunch is over, it is getting hot out and I am glad most of the major climbs are over. Williams Knob and Shorts Corner are the only really significant hills left to climb.

There is not much talking on this last part of the ride, and I enjoy just being able to watch the scenery roll past, trying to soak it up to warm me during the coming cold when every ride is a battle with wind and weather. The trees are starting to turn and even lose leaves in places and I try to fool myself that it is the drought and not the fall, but I know it is a mind game. I will ride in the winter, but spring and fall are my favorites. And with fall there is a certain melancholy that haunts my rides. Everyone finishes strongly. Who will show tomorrow? Who will challenge themselves?

Challenge Ride Day 2: Hardinsburg

You never know what kind of weather you will face during Challenge Week. The first year we were blessed with sun and little wind most days. Last year it rained and rained and I shamed myself canceling the last day of the Challenge due to flooding as I was worried the waters might rise around us. I have determined that this will not happen again. Weather conditions would have to be immediately physically dangerous before I would cancel again. Live and learn they say, and I have learned.

Today's weather does not cause much concern. The forecast is for partly cloudy skies and wind, lots of wind. I don't fear the wind, but bicycling has caused me to respect the wind. As I drink my coffee and study the forecast, I wonder who will show up today. The first to arrive is Steve Rice. I keep telling him he really doesn't have to show up, that it will not hurt my feelings, but he is kind of like the proverbial bad penny: always there when there is a century ride this year;-) He is followed by three others: Perry Finley, David King, and Steve Maurer. I wonder where Roger is and get my answer when I go back to the house and find the answering machine flashing. Ironically, he has gone to the wrong starting place and is on his way. I tell him to drive cautiously as we can wait. Those that might finish the entire challenge are now down to three when Bill decides not to ride.

Three new riders today, and while the three rode the time trial yesterday, they faced nowhere near the climbing that Roger, Steve, and I had faced the previous day. I no longer feel frisky and confident; today may be one of those days when I am the weak link. Roger arrives and we head out toward the first climb: Leota Hill. It is not cool like yesterday morning. I wonder if this group will stay together or ride separately. You just never know how a group will blend, and as we approach the hill I think how each year of the Challenge has been so different.

After the climb up Leota, the course flattens out for awhile and we are off in a pace line. I take my turn pulling, but I can feel it and know that I cannot maintain this pace once we hit Shorts Corner Road. I am betting that most of the others cannot either, however, and hold on. That is one thing that I have noticed, that normally just a few moments after you think you can no longer hold the pace the others are holding, they seem to slow down as well. Maybe this is because I am fairly well matched with those that I ride with pace wise, though I know there are times they buffer their speed for me.

At this point, the wind is still the caressing kind that gently brushes your skin and does not overly impede progress. It is the kind of wind that teases you into thinking it will be gentle and kind, but this is not the case: once she gets you within her grasp she will be merciless. By the time we hit Shorts Corner, one of those annoying roads with climbs that are not really significant but wear you down because they are constant, the wind is becoming an issue. I am glad that the pace lining is over for most of the day. Yes, it is efficient, but your concentration is taken by watching those in front of you so as not to touch wheels or by those behind you. You cannot really absorb the scenery or listen to jokes, and when I ride with Dave I expect to laugh, and laugh hard, at least once during a ride. I think how I like it when I hear laughter mixed with the sound of the wind as we ride. It is the same feeling that you get when you have fixed your family a good meal, everyone has a full belly, and the house is warm with love and you realize you are content to the depths of your soul for this moment in time.

I don't really know Steve Maurer, so it was interesting to chat with him for a bit and hear his goal. As I had hoped might happen, he is using the Challenge Series to meet a personal goal. He tells me that he has made a mileage game of the Tour de France, the Tour de Spain, and the Giro trying to ride half the mileage that the pros ride in these events. I am glad to hear he plans on riding at least one more day to get his mileage, and it is lovely to talk for a bit with someone new.

It is intriguing to me how my body responds to the demands that I put upon it, and I know I am not alone. Roger and I spend some time discussing how you have strong and weak moments during a ride. These moments usually pass quickly and somehow you go on when you feel you cannot only to find that you suddenly feel hale and robust. Between bouts of conversation with different people, I realize how much I love Hardinsburg Road despite the climb. It is strange how you forget certain roads that are beautiful and you wonder where your mind was at the last time your were there. Trees line the road and the sunlight filters through dappling the road.

We decide to eat at the Mennonite/Amish Restaurant, The Dutch Barn, in Livonia rather than Little Twirl. (www.dutch-barn.com). I love this quaint little restaurant that has such delicious sandwiches and is crammed with charming, handmade furniture and all sorts of odd foods and other items. If you haven't taken a ride there or even a drive there, I assure you it is worth the trip. If you do go for a see there is a bathroom available, but you need to ask as it is in the kitchen area. But before we get there, the wind has become a violent crosswind. Roger and I both wonder if we are going to get blown sideways off the wind when we pass two large trucks parked near each other for the corn harvest. The gap between the trucks seems to have channeled the wind giving it extra strength. The wind has reached the point where it is hard to hold any type of conversation as she is roaring in your ear rather than gently whispering as earlier in the day. While we eat, I tease them that a good ride captain would arrange a tail wind on the way home, and we do have some tail wind part of the time. When we leave the restaurant, it is pulling my hair out of my rubber band and whipping it across my eyes and face: very annoying. As soon as we turn onto North Street off of State Road 56, you can tell the difference. Roger laughs and says what wind. (Sorry, still no working quotation mark key).

Now we are on to the major climb of the day, the climb that made Great Scott Jammer Dog, Scott K., say NOW THAT WAS A HILL. I rarely ride with Scott anymore, but in the past I would judge hills by watching him climb. If he stood up, I knew it was a hill to be reckoned with. We have had hills on and off all day other than the flat of Blue River, but nothing like this hill. I giggle when Steve stops to lighten his load, fix hydraulic problems, or take a leak, however you want to phrase it, saying he doesn't want any more weight going up that hill than necessary. I understand. My legs are beginning to protest that I am asking too much of them, but they serve me well never cramping. I am getting mighty thirsty by the time we reach the Red Barn Bait Shop to see Amos and get something to drink and I realize I have not been hydrating the way I should have been. I glare for a moment at the fresh leg people;-)

At the Red Barn, Amos is nice enough to tell me he had gotten the raincoats we all fell in love with during the last Challenge Series in 2009. He had gotten another type that I did not like nearly as well. The ones he stocks are jersey pocket size, have elastic at the ends of the sleeves, are long enough to sit on and keep your bottom dry, and only cost $1.65. They are great for those days when you don't know if it will rain, you want to be prepared, but you don't want to carry a jacket you might not use around all day. I thank him and several of us buy one.

The last part of this ride is my favorite, past Delaney Park and on Eden Road. There is rarely any traffic and it is scenic. Most of the road is decent. More importantly, there are no major climbs though there are some rollers that have enough umph to make my thighs burn. We finish with a tail wind until the last turn when the wind slaps us in the face. Legs are tired. Roger is heading to the bike shop with concern about a bearing. As I finish out the century, I wonder who will come out to play tomorrow. Challenge yourself.

Challenge Ride Day 3: Tour of Tall Shelby

Today is the only day of the Challenge that starts in Louisville, so I get up extra early to make sure that I get to the start on time even if I get caught in traffic crossing the bridge. This is also the only ride in the series that was put together by someone else, in this case David Runge. I am familiar with some of the roads, but not so much with others. The ride is my concession to those that travel to Indiana to do the series, but it is much harder to be a good ride captain in uncertain territory. I normally have no trouble reading a cue sheet if I am by myself, but when I get distracted I tend to miss turns. Getting in the car, I notice there are stars shining in places so I know the sky is not solid clouds. While I got my Mad Dog name, Puddle, due to my love of riding in the rain, I also love riding in the sun when the sky is as blue as blue can be. I smile thinking about yesterday when Roger admitted that last year during the Challenge he came to find that he actually enjoys riding in the rain at times. Most, though not all, experiences have their charms if we take the time to find them.

When I get to Floyd s Fork Park, the sun has risen and it is apparent that it is going to be yet another glorious day, this time without the wind that battered us yesterday. Ten people show up at the ride start. Steve Rice, Roger, and I have ridden all days thus far. Steve Maurer is riding for the second day. Bill Pustow is back. And then there are the fresh legs, and what legs they are: Chris Quirey, Dave Combs, Jim Whaley, David Runge, and John Larson. Everyone is in a good mood and happy to be have a midweek century treat.

The ride starts with a pace line that I soon realize will split the group. Normally we ride together during the series, but today that was not to be. My legs will not mind a more relaxed pace and it is an honor to ride with David Runge, the course designer, who contributed so many delightful routes to the club repertoire. During the ride, I asked David about when he designed the route. While he could not remember the year for sure, he said it was either the last or next to last club route that he put together. And what a job he did. The roads lace together nicely with a mix of rural and not so rural, leaning heavily toward the rural, little traveled roads lined with rolling fields or trees.

By the time we hit Figgs Store Road, my group consists of Dave Runge, Roger Bradford, Dave Combs, and John Larson. I giggle a bit later as Dave Combs rides right past the road we missed on the Salvisa Century only five days before. How easy it is to miss a turn when you are talking with people and enjoying being on the road. Before we reach the first store stop, we find Bill waiting for us. He asks me about Steve Rice as he thought Steve was behind him. Of course, being a compulsive worrier, I begin to imagine what could have happened to Steve. We did not pass him on the route. Did he take the short cut to the store? Did something happen and we rode by while he was in a ditch unnoticed? I know he is not lost in this area. I leave that to Dave Combs and myself.

When we reach the first store stop, the others have gone. It is now called the Silver Dollar Cafe. Normally it is not a bad place for a cyclist to stop. They supply us with free ice during the summer and are friendly. But today the smoke is so thick that my lungs feel clogged and I wonder how I ever smoked. It just smells so terrible now. All of us step outside quickly after getting something to drink. Bill and Roger decide to take off. We follow shortly and my cell phone rings. By the time I get to it, it has stopped. I see it is Steve Rice that has called. I try to call him back, to no avail. Now I really begin to worry in earnest as my imagination goes to work, but there is nothing to do but to ride on. Half of my mind is on the conversation people are trying to hold with me and the other half is busy creating possible scenarios, none of them good. When I finally reach Steve, we have reached the lunch stop. I realize it is not the store we stopped at the previous year, but everyone seems ready for a stop and Dave Runge assures me they have wonderful sandwiches. Anyway, he had been calling to tell me the other group was eating at the other store, the store that last year had such wonderful apple pie, or so I heard though I denied myself. Yes, it is all about the food;-)
Now I can just sit back and enjoy the sunshine, the company, and the scenery. And David was right, the sandwiches were delicious and there were outside tables where we were able to eat al fresco.

By the time we reach Shelbyville, everyone is beginning to tire. Legs are complaining. Conversation has run short. The joking is less frequent. On a busy stretch, a young lady passes in her car telling us to get the f... off the road, using the f... word repeatedly in most descriptive ways. She is forced to stop at a light and we roll up next to her. The music is blaring from her car and she purposefully flips her cigarette over toward David Runge. She turns the music down and turns to complain to us when David, who evidently was familiar with the music, tells her there is a little bit of magic in her. She looks confused asks him to repeat what he said and he again tells her that like the music, she has a bit of magic in her. And this works like magic: the girl who was cussing us and angry gets a big smile on her face and her day is transformed. She drives off a happy woman. I tease David about his flirting and ask if it comes naturally or was cultivated. I spend some time thinking about how he possibly transformed a cyclist hater to someone a bit more tolerant rather than re-enforcing the negative image as I have occasionally seen others do.

By the time we get to Floyd s Fork, most of the other riders are gone. The parking lot looks empty. Only Jim Whaley is waiting as he came to the ride with Dave Runge. John Larson treats me to cold chocolate milk that he has in a cooler. It is good to be back, but there is a note on my car from Roger telling me that he had a run in with a large, brown dog. I cannot tell from the note if he went down or not: it just says he is not sure if he will ride tomorrow. So who will show for the challenge tomorrow, a trip to Bethlehem? Come out and play!

Challenge Series Day 4: Bethlehem

A tired woman drives to the Clark Forestry for the fourth day of the challenge. My occasional bouts of insomnia have decided to visit me this week, and I have not had a full night of sleep in what seems like weeks. Maybe with age I just do not need the sleep that I used to because I still seem to be able to ride at my normal level, but oh how I miss it, that feeling of waking up in my nest of blankets and being rested. Still I am looking forward to seeing who decides to show up for Bethlehem, and I am delighted by the weather. The original predication for cloudy weather has been superseded by a prediction for sunshine with little wind. I am surprised because this is the Bethlehem Century, a century route traditionally cursed by torrents of rain and wind out of the west that challenges the strongest of riders.

Roger e-mailed and let me know he was okay, but he did not mention whether or not he would ride. At the forestry I find two riders: Chris Quirey and Steve Rice. I expected Chris because Bethlehem is one of his favorite centuries. Roger has decided not to show. Why not Steve? Why could not Steve stay home? I think of the time I tried to take a green sign in Texas for the Apple Store by starting to hammer a few miles out rather than right before the sign. I dropped Dave. I dropped Bill. I dropped Royse. But there was Steve, dogging my tail the entire way and whipping by me at the end to nab the sign. And so he is dogging my club record. Oh, fame is fleeting;-) Of course, he shows. I tease him telling him it is okay because I am older and I will get to retire first and then I can take the record back. Assuming we both finish today and tomorrow, we will be the only two challenge finishers this year.

The forestry is always a nice place to meet for a ride. It is peaceful and I feel relaxed. Maybe it is because the ghosts of young brownies and daisy scouts that I took picnicking and hiking there still haunt my memory, their giggles and watch mes ringing through the air. Maybe it is the memory of running there with my running partner, Carol Dunn, on Saturday mornings long ago. Maybe it is the memory of meeting there for other rides and sharing chatter and smiles. For whatever reasons, I am fond of this place. A man sits on the small dock in the morning chill with his fishing pole. Another arrives to walk his dog. A young woman jogs by, the sound of her breath and footsteps music in the air.

The three of us chat for a moment prior to taking off and I wonder how the day will pan out. For those of you who do not know Chris, he is a quiet man, quite intelligent, with a wonderful sense of humor that sometimes catches me off guard. He is also quite a talented cyclist and I know that unless he decides to slow down, there is no way I will be staying with him. I am glad when Steve and he decide to slow their pace a bit to stay with me during the ride. I do enjoy solitary rambles on the bike, but today I feel like company.

The descent into Bethlehem is one of my favorites. It is quite technical, with twists and turns. It is hard to know where to brake as braking in a curve makes my bike what to straighten rather than flow around the turn and there is little space before you are into yet another turn. A lapse in attention could spell disaster, but it is fun to dance down the hill. The smell of fall is not yet in the air, but the air has the feel of fall and it will not be long. As we descend, I feel the goosebumps on my arms. We wind down to the river and Chris stops to take a picture prior to the long climb. During the climb, I think I spot the road on the GPS that I have been longing to find, but it turns out to be the state line. I tell them I will be returning when I have more tubes and supplies and am stronger to explore. So may roads, but so little time.

The lunch stop is at Subway in Hanover. I miss the woman who has been there the majority of my visits since I put the route down on paper. She has mopped up after us, given us sandwich bags for our feet and plastic gloves for our hands and all with a smile on her face. I wonder if she has the day off or no longer works there. I think how arriving via bicycle rather than a car causes people to remember you, or maybe it was the swimming pool I created inside the front door.

After we depart, I am delighted to find that Deputy Pike is newly paved and is smooth as glass. I am even more delighted and totally surprised to find that we have a slight tail wind. I have never ridden this road with a tail wind: always the wind has been in my face. In my mind that is fair; the original trip to Bethlehem was not an easy one I am sure. Perhaps it behooves me to remember that when I feel sorry for myself or feel despair.

On the way to the store stop, Steve has a flat tire. We stop and I get off the bike, take off my helmet, and sit in the grass in front of a small, rather dilapidated mobile home. A man comes out of the house and engages us in conversation, wanting to know how far we were riding, where we were from, and so forth. He tells us about his pool table and dart board and offers everyone a beer or something else to drink. Steve asks if he has a piece of duct tape to use as a boot. He does not have duct tape, but he does have another type of tape that Steve is able to use. Duke, his dog, and another adopted dog, loll in the grass until we leave when they halfheartedly give chase.

At the last store stop, we sit on the curb outside of the store and talk for a long time. I like the feeling of companionship. I like both of these men. Finally, however, we decide to finish it out and head toward Bloomington Trail, one of my favorite roads. We pass through the covered bridge. Flowers of some type, yellow and quite beautiful, line the road. Leaves are beginning to yellow and fall in places. Chris takes off. When Steve and I crest the hill, we see him already about ½ mile ahead behind a school bus. I joke and say the school bus must have held him up. Steve jokes and says Chris probably had a flat and has fixed it and rebuilt his wheel while waiting for us. When we do catch up, Steve facetiously accuses him of taunting us. We end the ride together and there is a feeling of camaraderie. One more day of the challenge, and I fear the weather will not be as perfect as it has been most of the week, but then that is what a challenge is all about. Who will take the challenge and show for Packmans Hint: A Journey to Orleans? Come out to play.

Challenge Series Day 5: Packman s Hint: A Journey to Orleans

With the rain prediction, I expect a small crowd today and I am right: Perry Finley and (of course) Steve Rice are the only riders to show. The skies are dark and oppressive and there is a distinct chill in the air. It is not the chill of a fall morning that you know will soon burn off leaving you toting arm warmers and jackets and vests, but one that promises to hang on the entire day. If it were early spring, we would be talking about how warm it is, but not today after the unseasonable heat. Perry points out a beautiful rainbow arching over the ride start, and I point out that it is leading to Orleans. My heart warms at the beauty and I know it is going to be a magnificent riding day, different than the others with the sun and blue skies, but just as special. I momentarily feel sorry for those who have not yet learned or will never learn the charms of riding when rain threatens or when rain actually falls.

A few minutes before we leave, I decide to switch bicycles. Because of having some saddle problems, a friend from Wisconsin, Greg Smith, has been kind enough to mail me three of his saddles to try. The one on my Lynskey appears to be THE ONE, but I do not want to abuse our friendship by getting it wet despite his saying that he would not mind, so I switch to the Cannondale which has the saddle that used to work for me but is no longer produced.

Orleans is one of my favorite centuries, inspired by a good friend: David Packman Ryan. For those of you who do not know, Packman maintains the club website and is VP of Communications. Prior to becoming paralyzed, he was also one of the top distance riders in the area and legends about him are still occasionally replayed on rides and on the list serve. Ask an older club member about David chasing riders up Pottershop in the past, pitchfork in hand, riding the hill everyone dreads over and over, then riding back to Louisville rather than staying all night in Bardstown. Packman is also a good friend of mine, and a mentor in my quest to conquer distance on a bicycle. I love him, and I respect the wisdom he has shared with me. I can not physically take him with me on rides, but I often carry him with me in my mind, particularly on this century which came about because of a suggestion he made. I will always be thankful for his suggestion, and so I honor him in the only way I know how in naming the ride after him.

Perry, Steve, and I head off towards the first store stop in Medora at a reasonable pace. Despite the fact that this part of the ride is flat and easy, I worry that I will slow everyone down. It is not that I feel badly, but I have no desire to hammer today. Luckily we all feel the same, and nobody presses the pace the entire day. This day will make a tad over 600 miles in 7 days for me and 100 more for Steve. Steve also intends to ride tomorrow. While I would love to join him, I have other family commitments.

All of us donned arm warmers prior to the ride. We banter back and forth as friends do, and I think about how glad I am to have friends like these two, as comfortable as a favored old pair of jeans. As we near Medora and cross the river, we see men working on the arches on the sides of the Medora covered bridge as we pass. The bridge looks so vulnerable, not at all like the battered grand dame she was prior to the start of the reconstruction. I look forward to seeing her as she must have been in her youth, and I wonder how long the work will take.

As we ride along, I notice that the green that I love so is slowly yielding to drought and to season. The Tulip Poplar trees are losing their leaves, and those that remain are more yellow and brown than green. The soy beans are changing from green to yellow and brown. The corn is bent and brown, ready to be harvested. In fact, in places it has been harvested, red corn cobs littering the sides of the road. We pass a melon field that was never harvested and the smell of vinegar is pungent in the morning air. I think of the two melons sitting in my kitchen, a gift from my husband who knows they are one of my favorite summer breakfast foods. Later in the ride, Perry tells me about a gift he has given his wife, a class he is taking with her, and I think about how we enhance our own happiness when me make others happy. As much as I love presents and nice surprises, there is a certain joy in giving and making someone else happy that can not be duplicated in receiving.

Not long after the first store stop, it begins to drizzle. We stop to put jackets on. Both Steve and Perry have rain jackets, but I have only my emergency poncho. My goretex jacket is just too hot for these temperatures, and the new, lighter jacket I have ordered is still sitting in Indianapolis per the tracking number. The plastic rustles in the wind, but it serves its purpose keeping me dry and warm. I love riding in a light drizzle like this. It is as if the earth perks up, colors and odors intensifying. I am looking forward to lunch. When I first designed the ride, the lunch was at Quizno s Subs, one of my favorite sub restaurants, but it closed and forced me to look around and we found this jewel: Maple Street Restaurant. When one door closes, another opens.

By the time we leave the restaurant following a most delicious meal, the rain has stopped but the wind has picked up. Perry pulls us most of the way until we turn away from the face of the wind. We pass a rather vicious looking dog that begins to run out, but he barks and turns back into his yard, or he turned back UNTIL his little friend, obviously the boss dog despite being one eighth of the size of the big guy, asks him what he is doing. They both give chase, but by that time we are safely down the road. At one point in the ride, we see a wagon wheel in a front yard and Perry tells me that some settlers picked where to homestead by where their wheel broke. He says he does not know if this is true or not, but if not it is a lovely legend and I ponder how we humans search for a place to call home.

All too soon, we are at the third store stop in Salem. I have mixed feelings about finishing the series. I will be glad to rest, but I will miss the freedom of being able to ride all day and Monday will mean the end of vacation and going back to work. On our way down Old 56, we see several Amish buggies, one filled with only young girls and no adults. We sweep down the two mile hill, up the rollers, and into the fire station. The Challenge is over for another year, this time with two finishers: Steve Rice and myself. Now I must rest until the 1000K brevet is complete. This series has prepared me as best I know how. Hopefully the Challenge will be repeated next year. Are you up for it? Come out and play.

Cobb Hill Brevet

2010-07-19T15:42:00.000-07:00

I was torn about whether to do this brevet or not. Part of me wanted to do the brevet and face what I knew would be the difficulties of extreme heat and humidity and a challenging course. Part of me wanted to just skip it and say I had done enough tough, long rides for the year and just needed to be ready to face the 1000K in the fall. I grow weary of the heat that drains my body until I feel desiccated like a mummy. When I hear that Bill will be out of town and Dave will not be able to make it, however, the final decision is made. Just as I accompanied Dave on his Texas 300K when he missed the Kentucky 300K, I will accompany Steve on this 300K despite his protestations that he does not mind riding alone. Some rides are just very difficult to face alone and this would be one of them with the heat predicted heat and the distance. I also knew that he wanted to share Cobb Hill. Part of the fun of a ride can be sharing the hills and the scenery. I was curious about this hill. Thus far I had not met a hill I couldn't scramble up, however painfully, though Fire Tower and Pottershop both took more than one attempt prior to success. Would this be one of the first? I then remember not making a hill on the Horsey Hundred, but that was on my fixed gear. So perhaps memory is playing me false and there are more sleeping somewhere in my unconscious.

I decide to accept the kind offer to stay in Shelbyville with Susan and Steve due to the 6:00 a.m. start and because I have been sleeping more soundly and did not feel I would be a disturbance haunting the night. I hate it when I am wakeful and can't read or get out of bed. I wonder if Susan will change her mind and accompany us knowing that she is not looking forward to her 17 mile long run in the heat, but she decides to keep with her training schedule for the Iron Man.

I fall asleep easily, and near morning I am awakening by thunder that literally rattles the window frames. I can dimly view glimpses of streaks of lightening through the blinds like the neon lights when you are staying in a motel in a city. I wonder if this is going to be one of those days like the one in Texas when Bill, Steve, Dave, and I got caught right in the middle of a violent lightening storm. I know brevets are not canceled for most weather conditions. It was scary until we found shelter that day, but somehow exhilarating at the same time. Maybe we never really appreciate the gift of life until we see it threatened.

Steve and I head out together toward the ride start. I am relieved at this as I know I would have trouble finding the ride start in the dark on my own and it is also nice to have company. There are more riders than I anticipate and all of us share that same buzz of excitement that seems to fill the air at the start of a brevet.

We head out into a light rain that will last through most of the morning. It is the kind of rain that I enjoy riding in, not hard enough to impair your vision and not cold enough to be uncomfortable. In fact, it probably improved the weather conditions. Steve points out the clouds and I realize I have never seen anything quite like them before. They are flat and shades of gray, mostly dark gray, but they are enfolding upwards in the middle, almost like an upside down tornado would look except you can't see up through the eye. We meet up with Chris Quirey at the first store who assures us it will stop raining in four minutes and six seconds (if I remember correctly). We decide to head on and not take our chances. I notice how the purple chicory mixes so nicely with the white Queen Ann's Lace that line some of the roads we travel, and how the water stands in tiny droplets like jewels. I notice how everything seems clean and fresher from the rain.

A little before the store I think that my left calf is going to cramp. This is strange as it is early in the ride, I rarely cramp during a ride, and if I do cramp, it is normally in the thighs. It lasts the entire ride, sometimes causing pain to extend to my knee, and I decide I must have pulled a muscle somehow. It never causes me to have to quit, but it is uncomfortable and remains so a couple of days after the ride.

When we near the first control, I realize that I had been calculating the miles incorrectly in the my mind. Somehow I was thinking that the first control fell at 100 miles rather than 66. Suddenly I have gained 34 miles. I giggle a bit at my foolish miscalculation. Sometimes I worry because I feel as if I may have early Alzheimer's, but then I decide that if I do there is no need to worry because it won't change it. It is almost a foreshadowing of what is to come when I once again am reminded that life should be enjoyed as it is short.

We move onwards and as we near Cobb Hill I see a sign that tickles me: "Halls Cemetery Road." It is green and lush here, but the hills and miles are beginning to take their toll. Steve offers to take a picture and I take him up on that offer. We trudge onwards towards the turn around control. I have waited too long to continue this narrative, as I forget much about the rest of the ride into the control other than a short, steep climb that left my heart racing and wishing I had climbed in an easier gear and the long, slow, painful climb up Cobb and Patsy Hills. I am proud of myself for making it up the hills, but I worry about the way back. The speed of my descent after cresting tells me they will be something. Steve confirms that he thinks they are worse on the way back than on the way out.

As we near the turn around, we come upon Steve Royse and Tim Carrol fixing a flat. Steve I have known for years, but Tim I have known only through the Big Dogs site. Steve and I head onwards when I have my own flat. Steve asks if I want to fix it myself or if I would like for him to do so. Since he is so much faster, I ask him to fix it. I am amazed at how the sweat just begins to stream down my face and body when we stop. I guess the wind created by riding evaporates some of it, but it is hard to believe a body contains this much fluid and still moves. At the control, Tim catches us. Evidently Royse has worked his way through all of his tubes and there is nothing more he can do to help him. When Royse later arrives, he says he is calling his wife to pick him up. I give him my folding tire. I also give him a tube and feel terrible later when I hear it had a leak. Luckily Johnny had a patch kit and he was able to finish.

As we leave the control, we come upon another rider who has run out of water and is shriveling in the punishing heat. Tim gives him water and he says he can make it the four miles into town. I stop and adjust my camelbak. However nice it might feel to have ice cold water running down my rear end in the heat, it will feel nicer to have something to drink along the course.

We come to Cobb and Patsy Hill. I have already decided that if I feel as if I am getting too hot, I will walk. I use the goosebumps on my arm as a further indicator, and end up walking two hills. At the top of one Tim gives me some wild flowers he has picked as he reached the top before us. Even now, dried, they retain some of their brilliant color mix of purple, green, and yellow. Then I stuck them in my handlebar bag.

Steve begins to really suffer from the heat, cramping up. He tells me to go on, but I really don't feel like pressing the pace. There are a few times that we sit and rest along the side of the road as we do in Tokyo. Store stops become longer and longer.

When we are within a few miles of the last store, we are riding along and a car comes behind us madly blowing his horn. I am trying to figure out why as there are no cars in the other lane, the other lane is visible, and the driver's progress is not at all impeded by our being on the road. I wonder if it is like the brevet where there was an accident and this driver is going to give us the bad news. Instead he sweeps by. Steve calls him an asshole and the next thing I know the man squeals his tires and pulls into a short gravel patch alongside the road and begins yelling at us to get over there. We ignore him and ride by and he squeals out. Steve suggests we get off the road, so we pull in a drive and dismount. The man pulls up, stops his car, and whips out a gun and points it at Steve asking if he said something. There is a young, dark haired girl in the car as well, but she refuses to make eye contact. Some words are exchanged and eventually he moves on, but for a short period of time I thought that Steve and I were going to be killed. I thought about those things that you think but never say to the people you care about and who care about you. I think about my family and my friends and I hope they know that I loved them.

Things calm down and the man drives off and we wait for the police. Steve has photographed the license plate and will make a report, but my experience with the legal system makes me feel it is probably an exercise in futility. The officer arrives and Steve gives him the information. We ride on only to find the store is now closed, but we stop to have a soft drink before the final lap.

Sometime during all of this, Steve talks with Susan and finds out there were terrible winds at their home, they have lost a tree themselves, and a neighbor has lost a tree that is across the driveway blocking my car in. My phone then goes off. I can't reach it in time to answer it, but I see it is my husband. When I try to return the call, he doesn't answer his cell phone and our home phone is busy. I try my daughter's cell phone and get her voice mail. Maybe because of what we had been through or maybe because my husband never calls me during rides, I became convinced that either my husband or my daughter are hurt. Selfish as it is, I would rather they lose me than vice versa. I begin to panic. I just need to lay eyes on them.

It turns out that everyone is okay. I reach a friend by phone who is kind enough to get dressed and go check. Steve gets my car around the tree. We are not shot and our bodies hidden somewhere and either never found or found months later. We completed the brevet. But I hope to never have that kind of excitement again.

The Kentucky 600 K Brevet

2010-06-07T16:40:00.000-07:00

I really wasn't sure what to expect with this brevet. Yes, I have done the distance before, but I had heard horror tales of the course, particularly the last 200K. 386 miles seems such a long way sometimes. Also, I am older, and I know that I am not as physically fast or as strong as I was three or four years ago. Something in me longed to conquer the course, but something in me equally as strong was afraid to make the attempt, afraid to fail. I think that so often in my life I have robbed myself of success because of a fear of failure, but with age I have come to believe that failure is part of success giving it a savory tang it would otherwise lack.

Perhaps, however, as Marianne Williamson said in her quote often attributed to Mandela: "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." I ask myself if I could be afraid of success? I don't think so, but who knows. Life is confusing sometimes. That is one thing that I have always liked about running or cycling: it gives me time to puzzle on things that I really don't understand. Sometimes I wonder about the people I ride with and their willingness to tolerate me when they seem so smart and I am just me, not particularly stupid, but not exceptionally smart. Despite the fact the most of the them are younger, they seem so worldly. But back to the brevet.

Despite Susan's kind offer to allow me to stay all night at her home because it is so much closer to the ride start, I decided to stay at the hotel so that I could get settled in and have everything laid out for Saturday and Sunday. That way all I would have to do on Saturday evening would be to bathe and sleep before heading out again Sunday morning. It also allows me to get an extra hour of sleep.

On Friday after work, I went down to the motel and registered for the brevet after gathering my things at home after work and packing them in the car. Part of the fun of riding a brevet is the planning and packing and getting the bicycle ready. All went well until after I had taken my bath and was in my night gown. It was then that I realized I had forgotten to bring deodorant. With a heat prediction in the nineties the next day, there was no way I was going out on that ride with no deodorant. The guys later chuckled at this saying no deodorant would help in the intense heat that washed us in sweat before the sun even came up. I hope that they are not implying that I smell all the time;-) Anyway, I got dressed again and drove out into the night in search of deodorant so I would not affect the sensibilities of those I ride with or my own nose.

Morning came all to early and I felt grouchy. Normally when I set an alarm clock, I awaken a few minutes before it rings or my furry alarm clock pats me with her paw. If there is anything that I hate in the morning is the sound of an alarm clock. I don't normally mind getting up, but I always mind the ringing that assaults my ears and makes my heart race. Why can't someone invent an alarm clock that gently rubs my back or kisses me gently behind my ear or on my neck or cheek or that strokes my hair the way my husband used to do when I stayed home with the children and he would leave for work, back when we were young? It is a much more satisfactory way to greet the morning, sliding gently into consciousness. But I suppose nobody can build something to replace the love that grows between two people and that is expressed through touch. People talk about their fear of losing hearing or eyesight, and I agree those would be too terrible to contemplate, but losing the sense of touch would also be an unbearable sorrow. Walk through a nursing home and watch the people reaching to pat and rub: an unmet human need that haunts the elderly.

On brevet morning, my internal alarm fails and I am awakened by the piercing ringing of the motel phone with a wake up call. I begin to get ready only to find my camel back valve appears to be leaking. This is disturbing as I know dehydration will be a constant battle and I drink more with the camel back. I particularly worry about tomorrow as there are so few stores on the course. I think I have fixed it only to find a few miles out that I am wrong. The water quickly soaks my shorts, gloves, and shoes. It doesn't feel badly as it is already hot and humid at 4:00 a.m. but I remain damp all day from the humidity. The air is close and muggy, like breathing syrup, the entire day. Sweat beads on my arms and legs as if I were a freshly waxed car in the rain.

I ride the first 30 miles or so with Bill, mostly in silence. I have not had my normal morning coffee, and I can tell it. If Bill had tried to get me to talk much, he would have been able to tell it. Luckily, he is okay with silence. I also just could not make myself eat breakfast. Before the first store, we hit a dip in the road that I was unprepared for but luckily I only lose my grip with one hand. We pass the first available store without stopping. At that point, we catch up with Chris. Bill pulls ahead and Chris and I ride a bit together, something that is unusual because he is a much faster rider than I. He later tells me he has decided to ride conservatively because of the weather and a healthy respect for cramps. I soon fall behind only to be caught by Steve and Dave. Before long, Bill falls back and joins the group. We will spend much of the ride together. It is interesting to me how one or the other of us will pull away for awhile, but we always seem to catch each other for a good part of the ride. I trust each of these riders.

The hours pass and I watch the dawn greet the earth. The sun blushes behind thick clouds which is probably what saves me on what turns out to be a difficult day. The sweat just does not evaporate from my skin, and I can't seem to drink enough to quench the terrible thirst that assaults me. At the first store stop, I have to force myself to eat. While I have been riding with others, I have been fighting black thoughts in my head and questioning my decision to do this ride. I question if I want to go to Paris again. I question if I even want to go to Texas again. I think of how I would feel if I just sold each and every bike that sits in my home begging to be ridden. Another rider joins us and I almost lash out when he attempts to pass me while a car is passing causing the car to squeal its tires. Under my breath I cuss; in my mind I think "Idiot, don't put me at risk by doing something stupid," but I keep my peace. I then begin to giggle at the thought of Bill and Steve's reaction if I actually had said something out loud.

Finally we reach the turn around point and I consider a good sign that I am hungry. It is never a good sign not to want to eat on a long ride. We have lunch and I feel better than I have all day. I am able to smile as we head out, maybe because of a full belly or maybe because I know this days riding is half done. We have not gotten too far before a car slows and tell us a rider up ahead has had a bad accident. We ride perhaps another mile and come upon a rider who says he went off the road. He has a bump and abrasions on his head, his shorts are torn, and his knees are bleeding. He appears confused. At first he says he wants to continue, but I point out that he would be riding at night without his glasses and the others help convince him it is not a good decision. We spend quite some time arranging for another rider's wife to come and pick him up as he is from far away and has no way back to the start. I give him my cell phone as he does not have one and ask him to leave it at the motel desk.

We head back out. Before we get too far, I realize I have given away my only chance of rescue if I should need help. I can always borrow a phone, but my daughter's new cell phone number is safely programmed into the phone that I just gave away. There are so many numbers in my life that I have all but given up remembering them all. It takes me five different passwords to get into work and on the computer. There is my bank number. There are telephone numbers and RUSA numbers. The heat once again begins to take its toll and I fall back. Dave drops back as well and pulls. When I tell him to go ahead, he tells me he is tired and can't go any faster. I know he is being kind, but I accept the pull. As we near Crittendon, out hopes sky rocket as the sky appears dark and promises rain. Drats, only a little sprinkle on us though it is evident that there had been rain here shortly before we came. I begin to wonder if God is punishing me for something. Seeing as I do so many bad things, it would be hard to pick which one, but the idea haunts me and lines from Thomas Hardy fill my mind. This is not a good sign as I always found Hardy to be rather depressing At the stop, I tell everyone I am a bit tired and not to feel badly about dropping me and going on.

Somehow I manage to stay with the group and we finally pull into the Waffle House at a tad after 11:00 p.m. We go in to get something to eat and I tell Dave and Bill that I am thinking of DNFing. I am shivering as I make myself eat the eggs and sausage I ordered. Rudely, when I finish, I leave the two of them sitting there to go to my room. I tell them not to worry if I don't show up in the morning: it will mean that I decided not to continue or to leave later than the 5:00 a.m. start time we had decided upon earlier. As I leave, Steve pulls in having dropped back a bit and asks if I have any butt paste. I tell him I will leave it outside my door.

At the motel, I ask for my cell phone and it is waiting. I decide that I will wake up and see how I feel before making a decision. I get to my room, insert the key, and nothing happens. I go to the office and get another key. I return to my room, insert the key, and nothing happens. By this time, I am almost crying. I paid for a room and I want in there. I want a bath. I want a bed. The manager brings the master key and a lock cleaner and finally is able to open the room. Meanwhile, he gives me Steve Royse's brevet card saying he found it laying in the drive when he came to work.

I ask for a 4:15 a.m. wake up call. This leaves me plenty of time to drink a couple cups of coffee and make the decision whether or not to continue. This course is knows as being difficult, with the last day being harder than the first. This time my internal clock awakens me and I decide to continue my quest to conquer this course. We take off into the night. I am using my new light and it seems to do a good job of lighting the road, but by 6:00, the sun is coming up. The days starts cloudy with a 70 degree dew point and I begin to question my decision, but early in the ride, right after leaving Lockport, there is a cold, cold rain. Being hot, I would have thought it would feel good, but I know if it soaks me I will be shivering and cold. Steve suggests we shelter in a barn. It is old and filled with old tobacco that never made it to market. The construction interested me as the frame was just constructed of trees. The one by the door is getting ready to give way having cracked near the middle. But the barn holds until the rain passes and we are back on our way.

The scenery this day is breathtaking, but the entire route has been either up or down hill. Incredibly, I find I am feeling pretty good and even look forward to the Lockport challenge. I am tired, but my legs seem to accept that more is going to be asked of them and the dark thoughts I have fought begin to recede. I also am very glad I have a triple on this bike and say a prayer of thanks that I didn't let them talk me into a compact crank.

The hills out of Lockport come and go before I know it, and we are sitting in McDonald's about 16 miles from the end. Everyone looks exhausted, but everyone still can smile. I laugh and say that there is definitely something wrong with us doing something like this. Steve smiles and points out that not only did we do it, but we paid to do it. This strikes me as even funnier.

I end the ride with Bill as Steve and Dave race ahead. I feel a sense of pride in not giving in, and I know that I partially owe this to the men that allow me to ride with them. This has been a hard brevet. There was a small crowd, and of the small crowd, four were unable to finish for one reason or the other. But once again I have surprised myself. At the end Susan is waiting and she looks so very pretty and refined. I think how lucky Steve is to have her waiting for him. Still I am glad I am covered in grease from fixing my chain when it slipped off and covered with sweat from my efforts. Before you know it, I am on my way home hoping to hear that I have made it into the 1000K. Picture courtesy of Steve Rice.

Watching the Earth Give Birth

2010-04-10T17:37:00.000-07:00

For a week or longer I have been torn between seeing my friends and doing the group ride or riding on my own. There are many friends I feel I have not seen in forever, but spring is such a short season and is so very lovely and the group ride is in town. It just seems like too much to bear. Friends will still be there; the last of the daffodils and forsythia will not. I make my final decision sometime while I sleep. I can't miss the spring and watching the earth give birth.

When I awaken, I sit and drink my morning coffee while the washing machine washes the sheets I will hang out before leaving this morning. I am not sure where I want to go, but I finally decide on Orleans. Early in the ride I thought I was going to get another bike when two German Shepherds came out and would not listen to their owner. I worried about flooding, but when 700 was dry figured I had it made. Somewhere on the way to Medora, I see a barn with two old, old bicycles leaning against it as decoration. I pass the round barn. But then, the flood waters before I get to the covered bridge.

Hey, it is okay. I have my handy, dandy GPS and I have always wondered where a certain road goes, so I turn around. I know if I head west I will eventually find a way across the White River. I ride and the way I want to go has a sign posted that the bridge is out, so I turn another direction only to have that road end in gravel. I pass some bee hives and stop to photograph them for my husband. I decide to see if the bridge is possibly nearly finished. Wrong. This bridge was built in 1900 and is permanently closed. While I am taking a picture, a car pulls up and a young woman gets out. She tells me she has walked the bridge and offers to hand my bike over. The kindness of a stranger warms me. She walks the bridge with me and hands my bike over the second barrier. I offer to pay her for lunch, but she declines. When she hears how far I intend to ride and where I have ridden from, she is amazed. I can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday.

I head on toward Buffalo Bottoms. The red bud is fully in bloom and the dogwood is awakening, blinking at the sun and opening wide. Everything is still so green. Wildflowers cover the route. I have no idea where I am and it is wonderful. I had forgotten how much I love wandering when there is time and the weather is nice. In five or six miles, I come upon some roads I know and decide to consider Orleans. I have missed Medora, my first stop, and I would like something to eat. Normally I am better prepared than I am today. When I figure the miles, however, it would turn the ride into a 200K and so I modify my route. At one point I pass a pond with two logs that catch my attention. As I look more closely, I see turtles sunning themselves on the logs. When I stop, most of them slip into the water, but not all. I manage to catch a few on film before moving on.

I finally get something to eat and drink in Salem at the seventy mile mark. This does not bode well for me as tomorrow is another ride, but what was I to do. On the way home, I check out Franklin Bottoms but it also is flooded. Even this has its own kind of beauty. "~ Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world. ~" Virgil Kraft

Kentucky 300 K Brevet 2010

2010-04-06T18:07:00.000-07:00

I am unsettled about the brevet today. You know the feeling you get when you think you have forgotten something, but you can't quite put your finger on what it is. Maybe it is because rather than my normal pre-brevet activities, I helped my daughter move yesterday and didn't get to do much more than slap some lights on my bike. Maybe it is because the weather prediction keeps changing to include stronger and stronger winds. While some of my most memorable rides have been in wind that roared and ripped through the countryside like an angry bull, I have learned to respect the wind. When I arrive, Johnny tells me it should be a tail wind out and a head wind home. I would prefer the opposite, but not being God I have no say in the matter. My only choice is whether to ride or not, and of course I am going to ride.

I am glad to find that Susan is going to ride as well. So often I am the only woman and it is a nice change to have company. Riding alone does not bother me during the day. At night, however, I worry that I will not be seen as easily. Also, I just don't see as well as I used to and these roads are not the familiar roads of home. I do love rolling out into the early morning darkness wondering what the day will bring and watching daylight slowly seep into the world while the morning sounds titillate my ears, rolling wheels and the noise of switching gears mixed in with frogs and crickets and early rising birds. I figure we will have about an hour in the dark this morning as the ride starts at 6:00 a.m. and probably an hour or so at the end of the day.

At the ride start, one person who registered the previous evening does not show and I wonder if the wind scared him off. The Kentucky brevet series is a hard series and wind will not make it easier, but in 2007 I was very glad for the difficulties that I overcame in the series as it was good preparation for what I ended up facing in Paris. I hope it is the wind and not an accident or other problem that kept him from the bike.

It is strange to think of Bill, Steve, and Dave riding ahead since I normally ride with them except for the brevet series. It is a treat to have Susan ride: females in this area don't seem to be drawn to brevets. I wonder to myself how much longer I will enjoy the physical challenges that brevet riding inevitably brings. As we ride, Susan and I share the beauty of spring unfolding her carpet of flowers passing splashes of daffodils and forsythia on a green background. It is so good to see green and color again that it almost makes me cry. Susan notes the first red bud tree blooms and my heart rejoices. I think of a favorite Emerson quote, "Earth laughs in flowers." At one point, there is a field of purple flowers that tinge the entire field. I don't know the name of the plant, but I do know that bees love it. I found this out the hard way while removing it from my garden one spring, something the bees did not approve. While we have numerous hives at our home, I think that is the angriest little bee I have ever seen, and she got me good between my eyes.

We come upon a huge Dan Henry and Steve Royse photographing it. Susan also takes a photograph. It is good to see Steve and to hear he enjoyed his son's visit. I rarely see him anymore except at brevets, but he remains someone whose company I enjoy and who haunts my memories at times. We talk for awhile of politics and the sky begins to spit rain. At that point, we don garbage bags. I search for the one I know I packed, but I can't find it. Steve is nice enough to give me one of his.

Before we reach the turn around, the wind picks up. I remember all the tricks I learned through trial and error bicycling Ike, but there are times I wonder if I will remain upright. I worry about Susan as she has less weight than I do to keep her on the road. The wind tugs at our front wheels daring us to try to stay upright on the road. We accept her challenge and inch forward. Susan later tells me she sees the wind rip siding off an outbuilding. I see a trash can blown into the road. Every part of my mind and body is engaged in staying on the bike, avoiding road debris, and keeping the bike on the road. Passing driveways we get sandblasted. It is scary, but is also exhilarating. It is wonderful to feel alive, to be alive, and I know that I will remember this ride and this feeling. Every sense tingles as if I am being shocked.

When we reach the turn around, we are surprised to find Steve, Bill, and Dave still there. They have already eaten. They leave a bit before we do. We decide to wait until the next control to eat. We tell them briefly about "go go man" and the "little hill." We manage to reach the last control about an hour before sundown. At this control, the wind finally dies down. I am surprised at how well I feel though my right inner thigh keeps wanting to cramp up. Normally I can keep from stopping by alternating spinning with standing, and today this works.

We reach the last control before dark. The clouds have been chased by the wind and the sun is shining. We decide to buy some cotton gloves to wear to protect us from the increasing cold. From this point on, Susan knows the roads. It remains fairly light until State Road 55 or 53, I can't remember the route number for sure. By now the wind has finally died down and we ride a rather quick pace to get off of this road to one less heavily traveled. By now we are talked out, but we ride in companionable silence. I appreciate that quality in a person, the ability to share an experience without necessarily verbally processing it the entire time. Sometimes it is good just to feel, to experience the ride and the way the air brushes your cheeks, to hear the sounds that populate the world.

We finally reach the end. Susan says it is the hardest ride she has ever done. I know that she will remember this ride even if our lives diverge to the point where we never see each other again, as will I. It was nice to have a companion, to share an experience with someone you like. I am glad to know that while I was ready to reach the end, my legs felt strong enough to ride further for the 400K mocks me from a not to far distance.

On Loss and Love of a Beloved Pet

2010-03-28T04:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was out of town and got a call that my cat once again was barely able to walk. I had just taken her to the animal ER the following Sunday after returning from Texas, and now my daughter was following my tracks. I feel so helpless, so far away, but I have family responsibilities that have called me away from home as well. When they ring me, my husband tells me he does not think she will return from the ER this time, and I feel as if I have let her down by not being there.

I have had this cat for 16 years. The children and I picked her out from a now defunct pet store. When I brought her home she was covered with fleas and half dead. She developed runny stools and to this day I believe it was my husband and not the vet who saved her life partially by taking her off the medications the vet had prescribed. She was so small he would tuck her in the pocket of his shirt and carry her around to keep her warm. When she got a tad bigger and feeling better, she would climb his tree as if it were a tree trunk to reach his arms. He was leery of my getting another animal knowing how I suffered with the loss of previous pets, particularly my beloved Pupik, and because of his own vulnerability to attachment. It is hard to lose what you love. Today as I write this, part of me thinks he is right.

Kitti soon wormed her furry little way into all of our hearts. At first she was partial to my husband, but she then took up with me and has been my constant companion at bath time, while doing chores, and at bedtime. My daughter showed her at the 4-H cat show and won. Kitti rode my shoulder like a parrot at times or would wrap herself around my neck while I sat at the computer or while I was doing household chores. When I had the flu one time and was so very ill, she guarded my bed and kept me company the entire time, refusing to leave me except when one of the others fed her or she had to use the kitten's room. She became my furry alarm clock that always kept me on time at work. Mostly, she became a beloved family member. I will miss how she misses me when I am gone and how she pretends to be angry at me for leaving for just a few moments when I return as if to say, "I'll forgive you this time, but don't let it happen again." At home we joke about how she does not approve when her servants go missing for any period of time.

There are too many memories and too much love to recount on paper. Sometime or another, she suffered a back injury. We don't really know what happened, but it is beginning to cause nerve impingement and arthritis that is affecting her ability to walk and use the kitten's room. Right now rest is helping, but it seems to be happening more frequently. I had accepted that the kidney problem would end her life rather early, but now find that it will more likely be the spinal cord injury.

Yesterday, she made it home. When the time comes, I will not have her leave this world alone if possible so that she is not so very frightened, but I dread the moment when I must say that final goodbye. And I will suffer a loss that will haunt me for the rest of my life and that nobody can assuage: only time. This will serve as my notice to the world that I love this purry, furry little being and I will be forever grateful to her for her presence in my life. I only hope she understands how much I love her. My comfort must be that she had a good life with our family.

The vet says to try to keep her from jumping so today my husband and I will attempt to jump proof her favorite perches. He is building stairs for her to use for her chair and my bed. I had bought step stools before and she would not use them, but hopefully I can train her to the stairs. Here's hoping for another year or two at least.

Texas Hell Week: Day 7, Blanco

2010-03-24T17:17:00.000-07:00

Today it is Dave, Steve, Bill, and I on a ride that is not one of the scheduled rides. I am afraid of the wind as the prediction is for 15-25 mph. winds all day and I have no cue sheet, but I trust the men I am with not to leave me behind. Once we cross Highway 290, the endless hills begin, but the sweeping vistas with their mixtures of green and brown are a sight. If I had to pick the three most scenic rides, it would be this ride, Windows on Dos, and the Death Ride. Again and again the hills assault my legs, and again and again my eyes reassure them that it is worth it. I think that it reminds me of PBP, this endless going up or going down with no flat land. Interestingly, Dave later says he had the same thought.

I am amazed at how quickly this week has slipped through my fingers and it feels as if we have just arrived, but my legs tell me differently. I am sad, but I also am beginning to be homesick for the familiar.

Before lunch, a dog jumps the fence and runs out after us. I am amazed at how much strength there are in the old legs after all. The guys laugh at me and ask me what was the rush. At lunch, I opt for the special and not the cheeseburger. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't as good as a cheeseburger would have been. Next year, I am eating like the guys and damn the consequences;-) After lunch, we don't stop to see the dinosaur footprints in the creek bed that Bill is sure are not real. Teasing him, I point out that it says they are real in a book. This really gets him going and he makes me laugh and laugh.

At the last store, Dave says he is not feeling so well and is going to finish slowly. Later, when he is pulling at about 20 mph, I tell him I am darned glad he decided not to finish at a fast pace. We all slow up for the rest of the trip in. We pass the peach trees again who blush pink at our passing. At the hotel, I begin to pack for the long trip home. Texas, until next year.

Hell Week Day 6: Windows on Doss

2010-03-24T16:59:00.000-07:00

Today it is just Bill, Steve, and I. We are not sure that this is the group ride, but I ask to do it as it is always one of my favorites, at least the first part of the ride. If I remember correctly, this was the first Texas ride I ever did, and I remember the feel of the sun on my shoulders and the comradeship. It was the first Texas century I completed on my fixed gear, and occasionally as I climb hills today I will wonder at our audacity and success in doing so. Oh, the things I let these boys talk me into doing.

Suddenly Bill, Steve, and I are the subjects of a photo shoot. The car photographs us, drives ahead, stops and photographs us again and again. At one point, it really begins to be a bit annoying and I am glad when they stop. Evidently the photographs are for a German cycling magazine. I wish I had a copy of a couple of the shots as I am not a good photographer and I am not capable of taking photos while riding anyway.

The roads on this ride wind over cattle guards and down little used roads. The live oaks again amaze me with the beauty in their tortured forms. The pace is nice and relaxed: we have no place to go. I begin to grow melancholy about the end of this adventure.

At the first store stop, we run into the Gregs, Joe, Jeff, and Lynn. Greg and Joe have told me that tonight there will be a Big Dog gathering at the brewery. I don't believe I have ever been there. I know I will not gather the courage to go and that I have a million excuses to serve me. Part of me wants to go, but part of me knows that it would be like torture. When I see the photos of all the people I don't know, I am glad that I don't go and don't have to worry about how I stammered and babbled like an idiot girl.

Later in the ride Steve comes upon a cow, quite large and quite black, that is not at all sure that it wants to share the road. It glares, but gives in moving enough for him to pass and the rest of us to follow. We decide to cut the Lukenbach loop off of the ride as we have all been there. It is scenic and I have some fond memories of the place, particularly during one brevet when it was cold and rainy and the pot belly stove was pouring out heat and the guitars were pouring out love songs, but I have no strong desire to return right now.

After the ride we head to the Enchanted Inn for one last Mexican meal. We talk about tomorrow and decide that rather than the group rides, we are going to ride to Blanco for a cheeseburger. (Yes, it's all about the food;-) This is Mike's last night with us. Tomorrow he is flying home, but he tells us he is already planning on returning next year. The rest of us all know we will return next year, God and pocket books willing.

Texas Hell Week Day 5: Leakey Death Ride

2010-03-23T17:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we did not ride due to cold, wet weather and perhaps a touch of wimpiness. This morning I arise early to meet Steve and Dave for the trip to the donut shop and then on to Bandera for the death ride. We travel in companionable silence through the dark to the park where the ride starts. Bill and Mike are meeting us there.

We arrive at the park right when dawn is beginning to lighten the sky. It is cold outside, and other than a quick bathroom trip, we huddle waiting in the van trying to decide what to wear. Learning that Bill and Mike are only doing the 80 mile ride, I worry about my ability to maintain the pace and keep up with Dave and Steve. After this ride, we always drive to Waring for Steak Night, and it would make me feel awful if I was too slow and we did not arrive in time.

Bill and Mike drop early in the ride as we pace line towards the first store stop in Vanderpool. There is a significant climb before the store, and many more afterward. The scenery is crazy beautiful. We are the first to reach Vanderpool, but a group pulled in not long after us. Steve takes off for the start of the two climbs to Leakey. I know the next 15 miles are hard ones. Still the climbing goes well and it seems only a short time before we are at the next store stop. Traditionally, and this year is no different, we have barbecue at this stop.

The rest of the ride went too quickly. We meet Greg S., Jeff P., Greg Z., and Joe C. in Tarpley, but we head out before them. Near the end, the guys are revving up for the last green sign. I just don't have the desire or energy, but I am able to keep them in sight and catch up before the end of the ride. Bill and Mike are waiting at the end. On to DQ and then steak night.

I am starving. Everyone laughs at how quickly I finish my meal and am on to dessert. Hmmm. Wonder if they had THREE older brothers to compete with;-) It didn't feel to me as if we rode as hard as we did last year, but a great day.

Hell Week Day 3: Hunt through Ingram

2010-03-22T16:50:00.000-07:00

Today I woke up to colder, windy weather. Normally I step outside the motel door following breakfast to judge what to wear. Today I chose a wind vest and arm warmers as well as shorts and jersey. I am glad I threw in some wool socks as I really despise having cold feet. I was delighted when I went outside and found Greg Z. and Joe C. were going to join us today. Mike had decided not to join us.

The first part of the ride I pull ahead of everyone except Joe when it is my time to pull, but I am more than happy to slow down. The ride to the first store stop is on back roads, but after that until near the end this ride is not about scenery but about the best taco stand in the world. At the first store stop, the woman begins telling me about growing up in a children's home. Sometimes it is like people know. I feel rather rude by not encouraging her, but I am on vacation. Bill comes out of the bathroom talking about ice in the urinal. The rest of us have never heard of this phenomena and/or they are reluctant to discuss it with me as I am a female. Only today did I google it and still really don't have a firm answer but rather speculation. Not that it matters, but it made me curious. We laugh at Dave sitting on the re cleaned corn bags. The things we laugh at on rides.

Finally we get to Ingram and ride along the river to Hunt. There is a lot of traffic on the road, but nobody but me seems to mind. The taco stand is open and it has warmed up enough that we aren't absolutely miserable eating outside. I have Michael's taco, and it is as delicious as I remember. Unfortunately, I can't stretch my stomach to eat the entire taco and it will be another year before I return, but such is life. During the ride we found out that the group riding at home had come upon a suicide in the park. It bothers me to think of someone in the depths of despair, and as I later say to the others, it seems such an odd place for such a private act. I think how lucky I am to have friends that lift me up when I am down and how I sometimes think of them as God's reminder that we are not alone. During the ride I think of a book I just read, "The Shack," and how some of the ideas within just seem right to me. I think of how odd that my mother, an atheist, was the one who brought the book to my attention, and I wonder if her beliefs are changing as her life is winding down.

Coming into Harper, I decide to go for the green sign. I just can't push big enough gears to take one without stealth or a running start, so about 2.5 miles out from the town sign I begin. I know that Joe and Greg are ahead and probably will take it first, but I should beat Dave, Steve, and Bill. Dave gives chase. When we near the sign, I see that Joe and Greg have not crossed, but are stopped before the sign. I try hard, but the Dave catches me right at the wire. I have given it all that I have in my current overweight condition, and I am depleted. Greg later pulls me to the Fredericksburg green sign and Joe pretends to chase me for it but gives it to me. Normally this would make me upset, but I know that his intentions are kind and it warms me inside like I have drank a cup of warm coffee or hot cocoa. I think again what nice people Greg and Joe are and how I wish they lived closer.

I was afraid of this ride as I have not slept well for two nights now. It seems I have more and more of these episodes though normally they are related to a worry. Still it seemed that I did not hold the group up and I am glad that I did ride with them. It never really warmed up. Tonight we will eat German. You would think that with riding so much I would lose weight here, but I know from experience that this just doesn't happen.

Hell Week Day 2: LBJ Ramble

2010-03-22T05:46:00.000-07:00

This morning I awoke and peeked out the hotel window to find a glorious sunrise in the east promising another wonderful day of Texas riding. Following breakfast, Mike, Steve, Dave, and I gathered to do the LBJ Ramble. It is a nice ride though not in my top three favorites. Unlike yesterday there are clouds in the sky, and momentarily I forget how quickly the sun burns them up and disposes of them in Texas. No fruitless banging on the shoulders for attention here: the sun will not be denied. I find myself singing a Dan Fogelberg song, "To the Morning." I think how thankful I am to be here in the midst of this beauty as we meander along the river and the park to scenery that is so different than that from yesterday. That is one thing that amazes me about this land, the scenery differences within such a short distance range. Sometimes I forget how very alluring this land is until I once again traversing the roads.

We stop for breakfast and it takes forever, but as Bill points out there is no rush. One of the things that I love about Texas is that it is all about eating, sleeping, and riding. There are no other demands upon me other than to turn the pedals. Soon my eyes are awash with the pink of the peach trees, majestically in bloom this year. Like so many things, it draws me back into time and once again my daughter and I are at the peach orchard, lazing in the sun, juice dribbling down our chins, mesmerized by the droning of the wasps harvesting the fallen peaches. When I canned those peaches, they looked nothing like those from the store that are processed green, but they tasted of summer and of my daughter, her skin as soft as buttermilk as she melted into my arms and once again, however temporarily, we were one again as if the umbilical cord once again attached.

The cows and sheep roam the land here freely fenced only by cattle guards. Upon the advice of the Gregs, I walk the water crossings while the guys ride through. All too soon we are at Harry's. Harry's is one of my favorite stops, strangely enough because of the old curmudgeon who used to run the store. He was not at all accommodating to cyclists much preferring the motorcycle crew. He was particularly unaccommodating to men not even allowing them to use the indoor restroom. I heard him tell one man to "pee on a tree." The woman's restroom here is a sight and for once I have a camera. At this stop we run into the Gregs, the Pearces, and Joe. Joe lets me know he is going to ride the brevet with us tomorrow. I am delighted as I did not expect him to ride with our group this week since he is a much stronger rider than I, but I always enjoy his company. At the stop, Jeff suggests a route that would keep us off of 290, but nobody but me seems interested. The guys accused me of wanting to avoid Gypsum Mine, not at all my intention as I love the climbs in Texas. The climbs here suit my legs without the steepness of Kentuckiana hills. They are long and gradual and normally I can keep up on these hills rather than fading as unfortunately I often do at home.

Steve and I joke back and forth all day about not finishing this century as it is the only ride that will count as a century on the club calendar, and he is out to break my century record this year. Still, we are joking. I already am unable to challenge this year due to obligations, and I am not really sorry: last time took a toll on my emotions and it was only Diesel's company that spurred me on.

Near Gypsum Mine, Bill and Mike break off to do a shorter route with less climbing, but Steve, Dave, and I press on. The sun is hot and it feels wonderful to feel it pummeling me and making me sweat, cleansing somehow. At one point, we stop to rest in the shade, one of my favorite activities when the sun is shining, the air is feverish, and the shade is seductive.

At the end of the ride, we decide to ride over to Nick's hotel to ask about the brevet. We are disappointed to find it is not the course the leads to the taco stand, and I tell the guys I don't want to do this course. I don't remember this course as being particularly scenic, but I have come to wonder how much my course memory is tainted by the fact that I had a broken rib the last time I rode the brevet as well as riding with Greg and Joe who are so much stronger than I. All I remember is chasing them up hills, having problems breathing, and being unable to stand and climb. We decide we will ride our own route to Hunt tomorrow rather than doing the brevet. I am worried about letting Joe know, but Bill is at the same hotel and is nice enough to let him know.

We are disappointed to find the Fredericksburg Pizza is no longer located in the bar, but we decide to eat there anyway. Once again, a long wait, and while the pizza was delicious, I wonder if we will eat here again. We do spend some of the waiting time across the street at a bar and I try to explain to Dave that women don't like to be thought of as "sturdy," a term I normally would use for furniture.
Another good day in the Texas hill country.

Saturday, March 13, 2010: Going to Camp Verde

2010-03-21T08:06:00.000-07:00

I normally take off work the Thursday we leave for Texas Hell Week each year, but this year I took off Wednesday as well for a medical appointment. Just being off work makes me shed years like a snake sheds skin and for just awhile I forget my years and I am a young girl again, free of responsibilities and decision making. As departure finally arrives, however, I have mixed feelings. While I anticipate this trip each year, almost from the time I arrive home, there is also a tinge of regret at leaving home and the people who love me the most. I treasure a husband who allows me the freedom to go on this vacation on my own with men that he really doesn't know.

Dave, Steve, and I meet at Dave's house at 5:00 p.m. and I take Steve to the airport to pick up the van that we rent. It is perfect for three people: all our luggage and two bicycles each can fit inside. It also is the first time either of them has gotten to see my beautiful new Lynskey bicycle as I am taking it and my Cannondale. Traditionally, the ride to Fredericksburg is a time for indulging in Girl Scout cookies, talking about club gossip, and reliving past Hell Weeks, and this year is no different. I grin at the guys and their eager anticipation of arriving in Texas to our first Whata Burger. I feel fortunate that they allow me to tag along. Originally I was to help with the driving, but I really am a lousy driver so now I just ride in the back seat. Sometimes I worry that they would rather ask someone who could contribute more, but I have given them outs before and they haven't taken it so I suppose they really don't mind so much.

We make good time and Steve asks if I mind making a side stop at Austin to see Mellow Johnny's Bike Shop. Of course, lusting in bike shops is one of the things I do best; it is actually one of the few types of shopping that I enjoy. Each of us purchase a little something, then it is on to Whata Burger. Leaving Austin we happen to come across an older man, probably in his seventies, sporting a gray beard, a pink wig, a pink crop top, a pink thong, and a fanny pack. Believe me when I tell you that from the rear there was absolutely nothing left to the imagination. For some reason, I think of a favorite poem by Dr. Seuss and so appropriate for cycling, "Oh! The Places You'll Go." http://www.teamhope.com/seuss.htm

Finally we get to Fredericksburg and go to our motel. We are trying a new motel this year as we were all dissatisfied with last year's motel due to cleanliness and breakfast issues. It is beautiful, but only my room is ready so we head to where...you guessed it....the local bike shop. Actually, we end up going to both shops. At one shop Steve points out some socks I HAVE to buy as they have a vicious looking drooling dog on them. I think about how one of my favorite things about Texas and Texans is that they control their dogs unlike those in Indiana and Kentucky.

After we register and clean up a bit, we head to registration. It is like a home coming and I am incredibly elated seeing people that have befriended me through the years but that I rarely see. We see Greg S., Greg Z., Marsha S., Jeff P., Lynn P., and Joe C. Greg Z. points out some others who log on the Big Dog site, but I am too shy to go and introduce myself. Then Johnny B. strolls up. I haven't seen him but once or twice since PBP and while I don't know him well, I know this is a kind man from his actions: I had not ordered the medals for all the series leading up to PBP but he mailed me a set anyway. It is always a treat when some one's kindness knocks you on your rear because sometimes I forget this with the work I do. Kindness is vastly under-rated in this world. We also find Bill at registration and our group is complete.

I decide to buy a jersey this year. While I don't really care for the colors, I do like the design. We then decide to head to one of our favorite eating spots: The Enchanted Inn. This place has tortilla chips that I dream about all year long, literally glistening with what is probably lard. Once again I think that I am lucky that I do not live here or I would soon be too fat to get on a bicycle.

After dinner, we agree to meet early in the morning to take off as a group. Mike Crawford, a Hell Week newbie, will be joining us this year. In the morning, I am delighted to find that not only does the hotel have waffles, but they are shaped like Texas. Dave, Steve, Bill, Mike, and I meet outside of our motel door.

As we leave Fredericksburg for the ride of the day, "Going to Camp Verde", we pass a road runner standing in the midst of a field. The air is crisp but promises warmth with the brilliant sun and the turquoise blue sky that does not sport a solitary cloud. Within a few miles, I fall in love with the Texas hill country once again. Every year I forget how hauntingly beautiful this land is, a contradiction, desolate yet brimming with life. Spring is a good time to come: summer would here would be brutal and unforgiving. My eyes have been starved for color and dance with the wind flowers laced along the sides of certain roads drinking their beauty. As usual, there are deer shyly haunting the fields and trees, similar yet different from our own deer. For awhile, we frolic alongside the river, bicycles weaving in and out, and yet again I am struck by the various shades of color within the depths of the waters. There is a small waterfall in one spot adding sound to the visual feast. I am happy here with these people with whom I can ride in comfortable silence, sing, or chat.

For awhile I have to put my new bike through his paces, climbing and racing over the roads, and I find he responds. Only Steve paces me and we soon drop back to ride with the others. Lunch is at Vicki's Burger Barn that offers a mean cheeseburger. I eat more beef this week each year than I do at home in two months. Too soon this day is over, but there will be other days and other centuries to ride this week and the forecast is great.

New Bicycles, Brevets, and such

2010-03-07T12:51:00.000-08:00

After thinking that I was not going to have my new bicycle for Hell Week, I was pleasantly surprised to get a call on Tuesday that it was completed. I arranged to take off work on Friday so my husband and I could make the trip to Tennessee. I am excited as we head out. My husband is excited for me as well. The sun is shining for the first time in weeks, and I do have some regret that I am spending the day in an automobile rather than on a bicycle, but it will be worth the sacrifice. During one of his many hospitalizations when they told me he would probably not recover and the sadness drowned me as if I were covered by an ocean and would never surface to breath or see the sun again, one wish he expressed to me was that I get a custom bike just for me. I still don't exactly know why he had this wish except he knows that one day, when I am free of work and other responsibilities, I hope to take off on my bicycle and tour the country. I also know that he likes to see me happy and I am rarely happier than when I am on the road on my bike. On the way down we pass a Christian billboard that lists some of the commandments. I grin and tell him that I guess I am going to cause some people to break one of those commandments. He looks puzzled and asks what I mean. I grin and tell him that the commandment says "Thou shalt not covet," but there will be people coveting my brand new Lynskey bicycle. He finds this amusing and laughs. It is good to hear his laughter and see the man I married before the pain and illness began their onslaught on our lives. One of my favorite movie scenes if from "Hook" where the little boy looks into Peter's eyes and says, "There you are."

We get to the bike store a bit early because I have forgotten about the hour time difference, but my bike is ready. It is beautiful. Lynn tells me it is unique, that the frame was made this way to meet all the things I said I want in a bike. It will even hold three water bottles. Steve told me one thing he learned from one of his bikes is what he doesn't like in a bike, but I already know that I love this bike. With any luck, this bike will take me to Paris in a year. With any luck, this bike will know laughter, adventure, and friendship. When I take it out, there is some noise in the front as the spokes settle in, but it goes away. I have never had hand built wheels before. I wonder how it will climb as there are no hills here to try. Unlike the last time, the store is very busy. Two other people are picking up their bikes, beautiful Pegoretti bicycles. They have waited much longer for their bicycles than I have for mine. Joking, I ask one of them if they had to be bitten by a pit bull to get his bike. He grins and tells me that he didn't. I see the pride of ownership in his eyes and I understand. While I must admit I did feel selfish when I thought of all the money I was spending on a bike when there was such tragedy in Haiti and other lands, I also felt the pride of ownership. I will never attain being what I would like to be, but then I am human.

On the way home, my husband encourages me to ride the brevet tomorrow on my new bike. Common sense prevails and I resist temptation. I would like for my friends to see my new bike. I know that he doesn't understand the struggles, internal and external, that can confront you in a brevet. You really don't know a bike until you have ridden quite a few miles on it. Brevets are long and hard enough without the unknown. It turns out that I am quite lucky that I use common sense and the saddle on my new bike will cause me pain on my short Sunday 40 miler.

Friday night I don't sleep well as I fret about whether or not I should have switched lights and equipment so I could ride my new bike on the brevet. I fret about what I should wear as the temperature range is supposed to be huge and I don't want to freeze but I don't want to carry a lot of extra gear. Morning seems to roll around before I ever resolve any of these issues. When I arrive, the parking lot is crowded. I am always amazed at the number of people who ride brevets. I am surprised but delighted to see Susan. She had told me she intended to ride the brevets, but I knew she had not been riding and doesn't like cold weather.

It is light enough that we should be able to complete the course without lights, but I have them just in case. After asking everyone I know how many layers they are wearing, I decide on a light wool base layer covered by a short sleeved wool jersey, a wind vest, and a light jacket. I am chilled in the morning, but not terribly uncomfortable, and despite the forecast the weather never changes enough where I had to shed a layer. It was nice to ride in the sunshine at an easy pace even though it was a tad on the chilly side. Susan amazes me with how strongly she rides despite having not ridden a century for months. We are joined for awhile by one man from Michigan. His computer has broken and he has lost his cue sheet. Susan gives him hers. I am glad that Susan said we should wait for him earlier in the day or he would probably have gotten lost. Steve normally marks this course, but weather did not permit it this go round.

I worry that the guys rode the course so much faster than we did and I know they are going to hurt me badly in Texas, but I convince myself that we will adapt as we have in previous years. One of my greatest fears is the day when I can truly no longer keep up with these friends that I cherish. I tell myself I should have used the trainer more and eaten less, but it is too late for this year. Maybe next year I will be more disciplined.

Susan and I pull in a tad before dark and I head home. When I get here, I take a few moments to stare at my new bike and contemplate tomorrow. I have promised my husband to take him to the Maple Syrup festival in the morning for pancakes and freshly processed maple syrup, but I know there will be time afterward. As it turns out, he doesn't want to go as he needs to do some bee work while the weather is warm. This frees me to get out early, and I am relishing the coming ride.

I grab the green beans from last years garden out of the freezer and put them on prior to heading out the door. The first ten miles are like a dream. The bike descends like a dream, handles well, and climbs well. Then the saddle issues start. I had thought this saddle would work for me, and I suppose I can give it another shot, but I am really glad I did not take the new bike on the brevet. I will get the saddle issue resolved and there will be other, longer brevets to challenge me in the near future.

Maple Syrup Festival and Other Thoughts

2010-03-02T17:10:00.000-08:00

February Century Ride

2010-02-20T16:33:00.000-08:00

Snow and ice have covered the roads for all of February making me wonder if I would be able to get in a February century. I have ridden a century every month since November 2003, and this was the first time that I ever really worried about being able to get the ride in due to weather. Strength to complete it has worried me about my ability to complete a century in the past, but I don't remember such a long spell of days that were not safe to ride. I can deal with cold and I can deal with rain, wind is a challenge, but I have learned to adapt and not fight with it; however, I do not have the bicycling equipment to ride safely on ice. Early last week, the prediction was for more snow and/or ice today but God smiled on my endeavor and sent what turned out to be a wonderful day.

Last night I worried that Steve might cancel today. Of all the ride captains, he is least likely to do this but I also know he does not want to risk any significant injuries before Hell Week next month. I worried even more when I went out to the car this morning and found a thick layer of ice, but I kept telling myself that I was heading south and it would be warmer there. Fifty miles south did make a difference. While there was a thin layer of ice in the parking lot of the park, it was not enough to do more than cause a bit of worry. The ice was melted on the road exiting the park and other than the occasional patch, was not a problem. I was thrilled when the sun came out for a bit and I even got to see some blue sky. I have to admit that while I am tired to the bone of snow, it was beautiful seeing it covering the fields.

The course took us to Frankfort. There were no plans to eat at the expensive shack that serves such delicious garlic potatoes, and while I love the food there I am glad as the pocketbook grows thinner. Chris and Tim took off, but Steve and Dave stayed with me. It is a wonderful feeling being that comfortable with friends and we spent a good part of the ride sharing memories of PBP. We talked a bit about the link to the u tube video Steve had posted on the list: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pmcui9ynsus. I told him how I didn't understand that the video made me more determined than ever to go back and that there is something definitely wrong with us for wanting to subject ourselves once again to the challenge. He laughs and agrees that they look miserable. I can't wait to return and I hope I am successful. Dave and Steve understand this. During the ride I think how much I treasure their friendship, and I mourn the day in the future when long distance cycling is no longer for me. Women like Bernice and Gay give me hope that the day can be postponed for many years. One reason I do the century challenge is that it gets me out the door. It is so easy to be seduced into sloth.

At the end of the course I still had to add six miles to get my century. I was a bit worried about the car that was parked in the park lot as I would be returning alone, but I wanted this century. I said nothing to the guys as I did not want them to feel like they had to ride the six miles or wait for me. It warmed my heart to find Dave waiting at the end to make sure I got into my car safely. Like me he had gotten a bad feeling about that car and told me that it had left and then returned. I am blessed to have such friends.

2010-02-15T17:14:00.000-08:00

It feels as if it has been snowing for days. I shoveled the walk twice today, and still the snow continues. When I ran yesterday, the snow was just starting and it was beautiful, this transformation, but today my body aches for my bicycle and the freedom it brings and my eyes long for color, for that yearning that spring brings, undefined and unnamed, but there and always just out of reach.

The garden lies dormant and waiting and the bees are patient in their cluster. As I shoveled, I wondered how many of the hives will make it through. The seed catalogs have arrived over the past few weeks, and I think that I will spend the afternoon leafing through them, dreaming of summers bounty. Sometime, perhaps when I retire or perhaps sooner, I would like to have an herb garden as well. Coming inside, I grabbed a frozen bag of green beans from last summers garden and put them on the stove. A jar of home canned tomatoes hits the refrigerator as well. A bit of summer's warmth comes up from the basement with them and I thought the sweat of spring and summer was worth it.

Life requires patience and appreciation, and sometimes I think I am lacking in both. But thinking of an e-mail from someone who was no longer riding their bike due to the dangers involved, I think it also requires some risk if one is to savor it down to the marrow. Our time here is so short. I wonder sometimes if I will think it is worth it if I suffer a debilitating crash on my bicycle. Packman says he would do it again, but he is not me. What is it that makes us get back on our bikes again and again from the time we take our first tumble? Maybe it is like the garden only instead of green beans and tomatoes, I will bring out my memories from time to time when my body will no longer travel the roads my mind would like to and once again I will feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my shoulders.

Snow and Trainers

2010-02-10T17:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday the snow floated through the air, as graceful as a ballet dancer performing a pirouette, transforming the world into a fairyland. It was the kind of day where you just want to fix a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, grab a book, and snuggle up on the couch with a blanket or in your bed to dream. It was the kind of day that makes you wish you had a library with a large picture window between some of the bookshelves and a big, roaring fire and a comfy chair so you could watch the world transform in snatches between chapters. It was not the kind of day that makes you want to go outside, clean off your car, and go to work: but such is life. Sadly, it was not the kind of day to go for a bike ride unless you have a mountain bike with studded tires. Even more sadly, it is no longer pristine and picture perfect but will be here for quite awhile, so I had to get on the trainer with Coach Troy tonight:-( Maybe next Christmas I will ask for those studded tires.

A February Snowfall

2010-02-05T16:13:00.000-08:00

Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Last night the rain came, gently sounding on the roof of my home while I lay warm and bundled in winter's blankets. The sound a lullaby to lull me to dreamland, a familiar sound from childhood and my earliest memories there is a comfort here. I thought of the ride I had gotten in earlier in the day, after a day at work but while the land was still dry. The clouds made a mockery of the suns attempts to reach me, but still I was happy there. Sometimes it seems I am happiest when on my bike exploring the road, feeling the rhythm there, watching the landscape change as the road unfolds before me, onwards and onwards. The only thing that limited me today was the thing that limits me most often: the lack of time. Somehow I strongly suspect that the very limitation is part of what makes it so precious. Eventually sleep claimed me as it claimed Kitti who guarded my feet, a job she does quite well.

On the way to work this morning, the radio forewarned of freezing rain and snow to come, and I desperately wished the prediction wrong. I would like to ride this week-end. The temperatures remained warmer than predicted and the ice did not come, but near the end of the work day the snow began, soft and dreamlike. I got home just as the snow started sticking to the ground, covering everything familiar and turning it into an unknown fairy land, as if clouds have come home to roost. It is funny how very different and unfamiliar everything seems when it snows. When I reach home, I give up a prayer to the heavens thanking God for allowing me to be home before the roads became slick because I am not a good driver and snow driving frightens me. I always think of the time I went off the road with two young children in tow. Nobody was hurt, but Jeff was barely walking, Tiff was small, and the snow was deep. Imagination got us home as we fought battles to reach the warmth of the kitchen where we would wait for my knight to rescue me and bring my steed home. My husband jokes when he says he can't die because I can not survive alone, but sometimes I wonder if he is not right. As I have been there for him, so he has been there for me. Relationships are in trouble when you begin to measure who has given more.

I debate whether to go ahead and cancel the century ride that I have scheduled for either Saturday or Sunday and decide to wait for the weather forecast before making the call. The snow deepens outside my window, blurring the sharp edges of the trees and grasses. I think of how I used to love to run in the snow and toy with the idea of taking a walk, but it is getting dark and I need to hear the forecast. I think briefly of the time I was driving in the snow with my children to the local movie theater before it closed when I suddenly realized I could not see through the wall of white. My daughter was old enough to drive and somehow got us home.

After listening to the weather forecast, I decide to cancel. The snow is to fall all night, though through the window the snow seems less substantial and appears to be lessening. I find I am not upset by the cancellation the way I used to be or perhaps still am at times, perhaps because I got to ride last week-end or perhaps because I am wiser and have learned to be afraid of being responsible for others when the weather is wintry and wild. I think of the Christmas Century in 2008 and how it felt like a century despite the fact we turned around at the first store stop and only made it 50 miles. It is not a time for road bikes, but a time for mountain bikes. I wish I had learned that skill when I was younger. My fear of re-injuring my shoulders in the light of my goals will keep me road bound. Perhaps I grow old and less adventurous. Just last week-end, Mule and I briefly discussed how injuries interfere with sleep and recovery. I grin briefly thinking of his comment that soon he will need to sleep standing up and wonder at those of us who ride despite injuries. I don't think there is any painless way into old age, however, and I would not give up these hours on my bicycle spent in friendship or in solitude. I may, however, be more cautious, maybe;-) As Mary Chapin Carpenter says in one of the her songs that I like, "I think fate should not tempt me."

January Centuries

2010-01-31T15:16:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, when I found that the snow had not reached this far north and that the weather, while cold, was predicted to be sunny with winds that were not very strong for this time of year, I decided I would ride a century. In the winter months, one never knows what week-ends one will be able to ride because of the fickle weather. As Steinbeck pointed out, "The best laid plans of mice and men," and that includes winter rides. I debated whether to post and seek company or not. Posting a show and go or captaining a winter century has potential risks: people without the proper preparation showing up, people showing up who will hold me up, people showing up who I will hold up. Rides in winter are just harder for some reason, and it seems I will never know how I will feel that day. In winter, I despair of ever again having summer's strength.

I decided to post and got one reply: Mule (Steve Rice). He is a stronger rider than I am, particularly in the winter months, but I also know he knows how fast I can ride and would not commit if he wasn't willing to ride at a pace I can maintain. He is one of the riders I know I don't need to worry about. The pace will probably press me a tad, but that is good for this now overweight body. I think how it is good to have friends with the same interests.

At 8:00, we leave the firehouse. I have no route planned and asked about looking at some of the new brevet routes, but as we head that way we find that there is some snow and ice of the road. We ride on thinking maybe it will fade as we head to the west, but when we get to Liberty Knob, we decide to turn around. Meanwhile, my big chain ring froze. Attempting to emulate Mule, I try to kick it over to the small chain ring without dismounting. My foot gets sucked up and caught. Luckily I am able to unclip and tilt to the other side. Mule grins and asks me if I remember what Skippy tells me, and I say yeah, not to follow Mule I manually move the chain to the small chain ring vowing to keep it there the entire day. In my head I vow I will practice this move with no audience in the future until I master it.

We head back north as I know there is no snow that way having come from the north east yesterday on my return from Cincinnati and having ridden 39 yesterday on my short jaunt. We head toward Brownstown. I am comfortable despite the cold, maybe even a tad overdressed. By now my water bottle is frozen solid and I wonder why I bother bringing water on a winter century. I think maybe this is one of the things that make winter centuries harder, having to go without water except for store stops. On 39, the water has receded leaving the ice above. I know it will glitter in the sun like diamonds if we return this way, but who knows if this will become our plan.

At Brownstown we stop at the gas station for a snack and drink, then decide to head northeast. We pick our route from the map as we go. I have never been to Freetown before, so we head in that direction. Surprisingly, it is a fairly large town with a couple of stores. We don't stop, but I store the information for future use. We then decide to head to Seymour. I have been to Seymour before, but never by bicycle. I am dragging and feel much worse than last week-end despite the fact that there was double or more climbing last week-end. I am glad when we stop. This will be our last stop before home.

The restaurant reminds me of a small town restaurant. The people inside are amazed that we are riding our bicycles in this weather. They are even more amazed when they find we have ridden 70 miles and intend to ride 30 more. One woman comes to the table and asks if we can eat all we want since we ride so much. If only this were true. Mule tells her it is not true. I think that I wish it were true. I also think that this is another thing making this winter century harder: the winter weight gain. The food is good and I feel more able to face the inevitable west wind that I know we must face to get home.

We head south and west in chunks so that we aren't in the west wind for miles and miles. I am glad we did not do my Half and Half Century as it has a such a long haul straight west. I apologize for my pace, but he assures me he doesn't mind. When we finally pull in to the fire station, we are a few miles short. This doesn't bother Mule, but I need to the 100 to get century credit for the ride. I decide to take a break and get something to drink before finishing it out.

Once in the house, it was so tempting to just let it go and quit. After all, I have my January century in. It is warm here. There is unfrozen liquid to drink here. But I know that if I once again intend to do PBP, I need to be able to get back on the bike when I am tired of the bike, to get back on the bike when I hate the bike, to get back on the bike when my eyes feel like they want to roll upwards into my skull, to get back on the bike when sleep seems the sweetest ambrosia on earth. So.....I force myself back out to ride it out, to head once more into the west wind. Yes, there definitely something a tad off about those of us who love distance cycling when the description somewhat resembles torture;-) I comfort myself with the thought of re-entering the womb in my bath tub, sloshing in the hot water, completely at rest.

Back at home, I wash my hair quickly in the shower and then treat myself to a hot bath. When I come back downstairs, I am clean and sweet smelling. It is 4:45 p.m. My husband looks at me. I tell him that you know you are getting old when you have your p.j.'s on before it is even dark outside particularly when it is winter and dark comes early. I am glad I have vegetable soup left from yesterday as the last thing I want to do is cook and/or do a lot of dishes. I am beat, but it is a good tiredness. I am glad I got the chance to ride, and I am glad I had the company of a friend.

Warm and Rainy in January

2010-01-24T17:32:00.001-08:00

Today is one of those rare January days where it is warm, at least warm for this time of year. It reminds me of when you swim and get a chance to grab some air before going back into the water for awhile longer. I know that it will be cold again very soon, possibly tomorrow, but today it is warm and each warm winter day brings me one step closer to spring.

Since yesterday was a century day, and a hard century day, I had intended not to ride today. As the day progressed, however, and the rain was light and the wind was not too brutal and the temperature was warm, I decided to put a few miles in. My bike was still dirty from yesterday so that was not a worry. Actually some of my favorite rides have been in the rain. Unless it is a very cold rain or a very heavy rain, I can't see any reason not to ride. Bob at the bike store says it is hard on the bike, but bikes are meant to be ridden. I suppose things may wear out sooner, but I am wearing out with each passing second. Rain doesn't seem like a good reason to put my life on hold or to miss doing one of my favorite things: riding my bike. It sure is more fun than the housecleaning I have done most of the day.

I head out toward 39 at a meandering pace. After yesterday, I don't want to torture my legs with any serious hills today. A hawk glides silently skimming the tall grass, his colors blending perfectly with the scenery. Hawks always make me think of Grasshopper because he loves them so. The world is filled with water and I am surprised that 39 has not yet flooded. The road work they did last summer has definitely helped. The ground can't absorb more and the water laps gently against tree trunks changing the world. Sage's Ferry is flooded and the waters cover the launching site and reach for the road. 700 and Medora will be impassable. I grin thinking of the time I got caught out and had to wade the flood waters to make it home before dark. Such a scolding I got.

The clouds move quickly across the sky, grey and sullen, and I wonder when I will next see the sun. I can't remember the last sunny day. I think briefly of Mule saying that he e-mailed Bill saying the only thing they were accomplishing asking about my new bike was to make me second guess myself. I am glad for his insight. I say a prayer for the friends I have, each one so very special.

All too soon it is time to turn around. There is supper to be made and I have left one half of the kitchen floor to wash until my dirty bike rolls over it. Tomorrow may be cold, and I am glad I made use of this warm, January day.

Paris Brest Paris 2007 12

2010-01-21T14:33:00.000-08:00

The journey has ended. We are waiting for the restaurant to open so that we can eat. Everyone is tired. All of us finished. I am homesick and it will soon be time to go home. I dread the thought of the travel, but I long for my own little bed and my own routines and the people who love me. They lose my luggage on the way home, including my bike. This may be a blessing as it is delivered to my door the next day so I never had to try to carry it all. My bike case had been opened, but it appears to be fine other than being impossibly light without the heavy carradice.

When I return to work, I find they have tracked me. There are banners across my doors and windows: Congratulations. But I am only there a short time before the phone call comes and I am out the door to the hospital. The light is that this didn't happen while I was on the road somewhere in France and that there is still some hope that all will come out okay.

PBP 2007 11

2010-01-21T14:26:00.000-08:00

The journey is ending. Things are becoming blurred in my mind and I begin to wonder what quits first: the mind or the body. I determine it is probably the mind. Though my body is exhausted, I feel like my legs could continue their journey forever, but my neck is starting to hurt and I feel at times as if my eyes want to roll back into my head. I begin to dream of hot water and the smell of shampoo and soap and the feel of toothpaste for I have lost my toothpaste somewhere along the way. At one point I stop to lie down and rest in the beautiful yellow flowers that line the road only to find that they are some type of stinging plant. While it is painful, it also wakes me up and I am able to ride farther while the welts subside. I decide to take caffeine at one point, and only realize later that it was not caffeine that I took but Ibuprofen. I don't know why I brought the Ibuprofen as it would be a real emergency before I took it on a ride due to the preliminary studies about its effect on liver and kidneys when a person is dehydrated.

I realize as I write this that it was a later control where I found Johnny, during my last nap. Dave was long gone. I had found Steve Royse eating at that control as well. He looked as fresh and as upbeat as the day we left and I was feeling so very sick that I wanted to slap him. I was sitting there with all this food I was going to force myself to eat, unable to stomach more than a bite or two. I will later run into him on the road, but only after I have awakened and hammered the hills hard afraid I won't make the control deadline. I end up in a paceline with people from four different countries. The one from the US is trying to make 80 hours. We are moving at a pretty good pace and I hold on for about a half hour, but then I am spent. I also paceline with some man with a white and light blue pants and jersey. I can't remember the lettering and I am not sure where he is from, but he makes me feel good right before he drops me by looking back and nodding his head in approval. Funny how some things transcend language. Not eating has done me in again. Royse came along and swept me up off the road giving me lollypops and encouragement, and we end the ride together. I am able to keep down soup at the last control. I cry as we reach the finish line, but I am smiling. One woman comes up to tell me she thinks what I have done is wonderful, and I agree. We wait a long time to sign in at this control, much longer than anywhere else along the route. Royse talks about a party, but I insist that I just want a toothbrush and a bath and to try to eat again. I know my body needs food even though it doesn't want it.

At the hotel, following a good toothbrushing and a hot, sweet smellings shower then bath, I realize I am glad to be able to do girl things again like spread lotion on my skin. It feels so soothing. My private areas are pretty raw from the rain, the distance, and losing my butt paste along the way. I have learned so much from this experience. I think of all the people who made this trip possible, this feeling as if I am in awe of myself and what I have done. I don't know if I will ever do it again, but I am so glad I did it. So many people to get here. Eddie, Davy, the Steves, and on and on. And now I have something I can hold tightly to myself when I am feeling caged in or lonely. I hope I can remember the feel of the wind, the rain on my skin, even the smell of my wool jersey at the end of my journey. I think of the thinking errors I made during the ride and am amazed at how sleep deprivation blurs thoughts. I still don't really have an answer about the body/mind connection and which gives out first. If I ever ride another such event, I will be able to ride it better I believe. But mostly, I am glad I was here and that I did this thing. I finished. Along the way I saw many who did not. I saw strong men broken by the weather and the course, pain on their faces as they realized they could not go on. So many things that I could never write them all down. I wish I had taken the time to take more pictures. Perhaps in the future......

PBP 2007 10

2010-01-21T14:22:00.001-08:00

After Loudiac, I finally manage to throw up. While it scared me due to dehydration concerns, I felt so much better. The rain had stopped temporarily and I had a wonderful hour or two. I knew I was feeling better when I started to sing and climb. It was one of those times when those around you seem to be feeling weaker and for some strange reason you are feeling stronger and stronger. I stop to take pictures of some of the flowers. When I stop to brush my teeth alongside the road as they feel like they have developed fur, I see a beautiful creek off to the side. At a small village, I find a stream with the most beautiful swans, and always there are the French yelling, "Allez! Bravo!" The climb into Brest is fun and when I get to the top, there are crowds of people who seem to go wild when I reach the top and am still climbing standing out of the saddle. I am sure it is my imagination, but it seems real and so I pretend. Then comes the most wonderful descent that seems to last forever. Near the bottom I pass a large group and cry, "Rally Brest! Rally Brest!" Being male of course this meant they had to give chase and we hammered for quite some time before I saw Johnny riding off to the side and dropped to chat for a moment. I then started stopped at each child I saw and leaving some gift with them: a sticker or a toy parachute or a tootsie roll. We come to the bridge at Brest and the wind almost blows me over. One of my great regrets of the ride is that I didn't stop to take a photo as I thought the route would be out and back and I would catch the view on the return. I later take pictures at the summit of the hill I was on such a high over earlier, but it was nearing dark and they did not turn out so well.

At the control, I find my stomach is upset again. I have started eating at the bars and places between controls, but I decide to eat at the control here. I am waiting in line wondering if I can ever stomach another jambon avec fromage sandwich again when some man dressed in a suit asks if I am aware there is a restaurant with no waiting a bit up the hill. He walks me up there and speaks perfect English. He asks if he can take my picture and e-mail it to me. I tell him yes. He writes my e-mail address down and I note that he has the addresses of many others. I have never gotten my picture so I wonder if I have been scammed, but if so, it is too late. I am missing broccoli and spinach and roughage in my diet. While at Brest, Dave comes in after me. I tell him where I will be in case he wants to ride with me. He finds me in the restaurant and we decide to continue our journey together for awhile.

We ride into the dark and see a man weaving on his bicycle. He asks for help. Dave stops and then I stop. We find that he has not eaten or drank anything since 5:00 as he got sick to his stomach. Jamie from England stops as well, and then a nurse. We make him eat and drink and spend quite some time helping him. Jamie says to me that it is time to try some tough love as we will not make our time if we continue to stay, so we take off. Dave catches us and we make the control. I was thinking this was where we find a McDonald's, but I must be wrong, because wherever it is we end up, we see Steve Rice getting ready to head out. It must have been Loudiac as Joe wasn't with him and must have been at the hotel. Dave and I get into a small tiff when he wants to tell me when to get up rather than when to leave, and I hope I don't hurt his feelings as I suggest we just take off alone. I want a bit more sleep than he is allowing and decide to give myself the luxury of three hours. I go to bed and look over. There is Johnny three mats down. What a hoot. Later I will tease him about sleeping with him;-) This from the woman who, despite temptation, has not slept with anyone but her husband in 28 years. The next thing I know I feel tiny hands on my shoulders, and a child is whispering, "Madame, madame, it is time to get up." Even the small children know quite a bit of English and I feel stupid. One of the things Jamie and I talked about in the dark of the night is that he was amazed when Dave told him he doesn't know French. Jamie teaches French to adults. It makes me realize how little he understands America. I don't speak French either. If I were going to learn another language that I would use, Spanish would make more sense. But I just listen. Jamie is big. He has one daughter. He has never done LEL and has no desire to do so.

But enough for now. It is time to leave for the hospital again.

PBP 2007 9

2010-01-21T14:17:00.000-08:00

The day is finally here and we are preparing to go to the start. I notice that my stomach is feeling rather badly, but I figure it will pass as the ride starts. Wrong! It will haunt me with nausea throughout the entire event, though it does ebb for short periods of time. It is not raining, but there is the promise of rain in the air. The crowd is large and it would be easy to get separated. Some people are pushing and shoving. I hang onto the back of Steve Royse's carradice so as not to get separated. I still am not sure about finding my way if I get lost. Someone at the hotel tell me the arrows here are used differently than they would be at home.

There are fireworks and other exciting things going on in the distance. I notice a man and a woman speaking french and they are pointing at me and laughing. He tries to talk with me, but I don't really speak but a few words of french. I call on Johnny for help. I find that my Boure hat means being drunk in french. I will meet this same people in a bar somewhere in France in the middle of the night later during the ride and the giggle will continue. It was almost like running into old friends.

The ride gets ready to start. Someone wants to see both of my lights work, but my secondary has not worked since I got here. Perhaps I should have asked Dave or Steve for help, but I was proud of myself for finally getting the primary to work without help and I figured I could get by. I hate always having to ask for help. Asking for help is hard for me to do. There are reasons for that, but this is not the time to go into that. I have my primary light, my head lamp, and a cats eye handlebar light.

The ride thins out more quickly than I would expect and I hang onto the people I am riding with. Unfortunately, there are enough people that I am not very comfortable eating in the midst of everyone. If I ride this type of ride again, I either need to practice or come up with something that works for me. In the dark I hear someone go down and the sound of their helmet scraping across the pavement. Water bottles seem to be everywhere, but I manage to remain upright and with everyone. I find I am overdressed, but I don't feel as if I can stop. By the first stop, I am starting to feel very dehydrated. Coke tastes like the sweetest of drinks, but my stomach just won't get over it.

I later end up bonking and Steve Rice gently pushes me up hills and feeds me caffeine to pull me along. I am amazed at his patience and gentleness, and I feel badly because I know I am impacting his ride strategy. Strangely enough in light of what is to come upon my return home, I think about when I will be without Lloyd for I am realistic enough to know that barring illness or accident, I will outlive him, and I think that maybe with friends like this I can somehow survive that loss when it comes.

Sometime or another, we come upon a stand where children are giving out hot chocolate and pound cake. It tastes so good. I am glad I have a little something to give them in return: stickers and toy parachutes. Sometime during this time, I realize I must separate from the group for their own good and my good. Unfortunately, when I try to communicate that need to Royse, he won't accept it telling me that I will be amazed at what an hours worth of sleep will do for me. When we reach Loudiac, Dave is there and says we will meet at 1:00. I am in no mood to argue, so I go to bed and explain that I will need to get up at 1 to tell some friends to go on, but want to sleep another hour or so after that. Luckily, the man at the control speaks English. They wake me at 1:00 a.m. and I go outside, but I must have gotten the time wrong because nobody is out there. I try to find paper and finally manage to snag a scrap piece from one of the tables. I write a note intending to leave it on Dave's bike as I think he will find it as he is so observant, but I can't find his bike. I leave the note on Steve's bike asking them to go on. My bike is not shifting right and I need a mechanic and I need a bit more sleep. When I awaken, they are all waiting and I feel like a piece of shit. They had not found my note. I tell them to go on and finally they go. I will finish this ride, but at my own pace and in my own way. I have realized I must do this to be successful. I remain sick to my stomach. I was amazed at the control at how I could sleep. As soon as my head hit the pillow it did not matter that there were a hundred strangers around me, I was asleep.

I am amazed at the people along the route, even in the rain and the chilly, windy night air, they are there helping. They all blur together. Rain impacted picture taking, and I am glad my camera was not destroyed. I had bought waterproofing for my handlebar bag and applied it prior to the event, but it had never been tested. It worked well.

PBP 2007 8

2010-01-21T14:14:00.000-08:00

We are back at the motel. The bikes are not allowed in our personal rooms, so there is a large room where they are kept. The carpeting is covered with plastic. The room is filled with bicycles and bike boxes. The boxes also litter the stairwells. When we take our bikes and check out, this is where our luggage will stay until our return. I feel very lucky that I never had to move more than five or six bikes to get to my own. I also am glad I am not neurotic about scratches on my bike like I am about so many other things. I learn so much by just watching the others. Many are veterans, others are new like me. I see different seats and different lights and different thingamajigs.

The other picture is the bar where people kind of loiter on the first floor. Only two more days and we will be leaving. Tomorrow is bike check in. I grow more and more nervous, but the good kind of nervous. I ask myself over and over why I want to do this and never do come to much of a good reason other than to see if I can. I am hoping for good weather, but I hear the forecast is for rain. (Boy were they right;-)

PBP 2007 7

2010-01-21T14:12:00.001-08:00

The journey ends as all journeys do at the cemetary. Monuments to people that have been loved. That is all we can do to honor the dead and what they were, what they contributed to our lives and our world, to honor what we ourselves will become, and people have chosen monumental means to do so. We go into the cemetary in shifts because we may not take our bikes inside. I go with Joe and Royse. We never find Jim Morrison's grave, but we do find the grave of Chopin. It is like a shrine with people before it. There are flowers and candles and other tributes. What must it be like to contribute to the good of humanity to where strangers build a shrine for you? I will never know as I, like most, am not so talented. I am just me. Royse also asks me to photograph the monument near Chopin's that has a name I am not familiar with. Joe and I wonder if people are actually buried here or cremated and then buried. Space leaves me to believe they are cremated.