Ride Report on TMD Stage 2: Suburbane Century

"There is nothing like 

puking with somebody to

make you into old friends."

Sylvia Plath 

As I drive to the ride start, I think about how it will be interesting to see who and how many show.  This century normally has a large attendance, but this year has not been conducive to training and it is not a particularly easy century.  The weather has been windy, rainy, cold, snowy, or a combination since January. Brevet weather, I think with a tinge of disgust and envy.  Yes, for some odd reason, there is a part of me that misses the challenge of a tough brevet, but this century with the wind and hills will be enough of a challenge for this woman nearing her 69th birthday and knocking on the door of 70.  Where, I think, did the years go?  

 

 Later during the ride I will relate the story of my recent visit with my young granddaughters.  We were walking through the Bible Museum in DC and there were pot shards in cases.  My oldest granddaughter, age 5, looks at her little sister and says, "These pots are really old.  They're even older than grandma."  I laughed them and I laugh now.  No filters, just pure honesty.

 

I arrive right behind John and Susan Pyron who were kind enough to agree to captain the century when Bekki Livingston could not due to some health issues.  Normally we park on the other side of the large parking lot, but it is filled with cars and buses.  I never do learn what the festival is.  Later, before the start, Dave King passes me on my way back from the port-a-pot asking where everyone is.  Had I not followed the Python's that would have been me. 

 

Cars roll in quickly after that, particularly since Jeff Carpenter was kind enough to put on a fifty mile route that hangs with the century route departing ways at the first store stop.  I laugh when Mike "Diesel Dog" Kamenish signs in on both sheets not realizing there are different sheets.  He grins saying, "Well, maybe I'll get credit for 150 miles."  This ride start always makes me think of him anyway as this is where the double century he used to put on every year started from.  How many years has it been since that was a club ride?  Many, many.  I rode it the last time it was offered with Thomas "The Train" Nance.  Either he was weaker or I was stronger because I could not stay with him anymore.

 

 It turns out there are four new riders:  Terrell Brown, Harley Wise, Jerry (I can't read his writing),  and William Gillan.   Other riders that sign in are Fritz Kopatz, Tom "Ambasador Dog" Askew, Larry "Gizmo" Preble, Bob "Backpack"  Grable, Steven "Diamond"  Sarson, Keith Baldwin, David "Bam Bam"  King, John Dippold, Steve "Mule"  Rice, Alan McCoy, Thomas "The Train" Nance, Mark Rougeux, Jon  "Lunchbox" Wineland, Glenn "Clothesline" Smith, Mike "Diesel Dog" Kammenish, Dominic Wasserzug, William Gillen, John Pyron, Susan Pyron, and myself.  People mill around the parking lot as they do before a ride, catching up with people as the bicycling season really begins.  My heart rises seeing some of the friends I have not seen for months and we exchange a few words here or there.  Tom Askew shows me a new helmet mirror he has acquired, one that will, I am sure, arouse a bit of envy from some others.  My jaw drops a bit when I see Alan McCoy is here as I have not seen him at a ride for a number of years, and yes, I hear someone make the joke about him being the "Real McCoy."  You younger riders may need to Google that reference.  

 

Before the ride I talk briefly with Harley Wise, a first time TMD participant and rider.  He asks about the pace and I tell him the group will split into different smaller groups with paces that probably will range from 12 mph to 18 mph.  Harley tells me he has just retired and has set completion of the tour as a goal.  As it turns out, Harley will be the first one in for the day reaching the end at 3:29 p.m.  With the last group coming in at 5:50, this tells you a bit about the pace he was  holding.

 

 At 8:30, the Pyron's send everyone on their way and it is quite the sight with the century group and the fifty mile group rolling out.  A wave of brightly covered jerseys and the sound of chatter fills the air along with the shifting of gears and the turning of sprockets.  As usual, it did not take long for groups to form.  On this ride, that was aided by traffic.  I talk briefly with Jerry, last name unknown, who says that he does, indeed, hope to complete the tour.  I also meet one of the other first timers: Terrell Brown.  I learn that Terrell is not from Louisville but came to this area as a runner for Bellarmine University.       

                                                                             

While I was not present, I have it on good authority that Thomas Nance missed a turn early in the ride going off course.  This made for some ribbing until one of the one doing some of the ribbing missed a turn.  Yes, Jon Wineland who pointed out that with all the turns in the course, missing one was only a one percent error rate;-)  Later, Thomas and Larry would tell Jon that while going through a neighborhood, some people told them Jon was looking for them.  He claims his GPS went a little wonky in the neighborhood, I think he just didn't want to admit missing more turns than Thomas. 

 

 At the first store stop, Harley reintroduced himself to Larry reminding Larry that once, long ago, Larry had bought him  breakfast and telling him that he owed him one.  Larry didn't collect yesterday because he had dropped back to the group I was riding with, but he may one day get that free meal.  Larry would have had to do some pushing to stay with Harley yesterday. It made me think of how kind riders normally are to others when they forget to bring their wallet or have another issue.   

 
Shortly after lunch at McDonalds, my group for the day has formed.  I am riding with Bob Grable, Keith Baldwin, Larry Preble, Steve Rice, David King, and Terrell Brown.  I was surprised to see Steve at the start and even more surprised by how strongly he was riding since he recently had a hip replacement.  He denies it still troubling him.  This is Dave's first ride of the year.  While he complains, he has no trouble keeping up and even beats Steve to one green sign.  (For those who don't know, it used to be a familiar practice during club rides to race and be the first to take a green sign for a county or city).   We briefly touch upon our upcoming bike ride when we will ride from Anchorage to Fairbanks and back.  Keith, who normally is with a faster group, reveals that he has not been riding much as he finally found a new home and was dealing with selling his old home.  Bob has also started a new job as Chief Financial Officer for a local company.  

 

We do not stop again until we are almost finished opting not to go to the Barbecue.  We debate not stopping, but decide it is needed.  The hills are beginning to tell on legs and joints and Larry says he is walking like an old man, then laughs and says he is an old man.  We all sit on the curb and, other than Terrell, groan when get up.  Soon we will face the last hill.   I know it is a bad hill as Garmin counts it as a hill.  Bob's Garmin says there are only four hills on the course.  My Wahoo says there are twenty six.  Jon's Garmin comes in with over 6,000 feet of climbing.  My Wahoo comes in at 5,600.  Regardless, my legs are cursing me by the time we crest Wolf Pen Road and are ready to quit.  And I am not the only one.  I don't believe anyone puked (not hot enough but something I have seen on rides before), but I think that every single one of us, at least in my group, was quite glad to put the hills behind us and finish. 

 

Thank you, Bekki and John Pelligrino, for this route.  And thanks again to the Pyron's for captaining. I'm sorry I don't know more about the other groups and what happened to them throughout the day, but this is how everyone came in that signed in at the end:

 

Harley Wise:    3:29 pm.       1 rider

Jon Wineland:  3:36 p.m.     1 rider

John Dippold:  3:54 p.m.     6 riders

Thomas Nance:  3:54 p.m.           6 riders

Alan McCoy     3:54 p.m.         6 riders

Glenn Smith:    3:54 p.m.         6 riders

Fritz Kopatz:     3:54 p.m.         6 riders

Michael Kamenish:  3:54 p.m.  6 riders

Tom Askew:  4:20 p.m.     2 riders

Jerry (Not sure of last name)   4:20   2 riders

Larry Preble   4:30 p.m.   7 riders

Keith Baldwin:  4:30 p.m.   7 riders

Melissa Hall:  4:30 p.m.    7 riders

Steve Rice:  4:30 p.m.   7 riders

Bob Grable:  4:30 p.m.   7 riders

David King:   4:30 p.m.  7 riders

Terrell  Brown:   4:30 p.m.  7 riders

Dominic Wasserzug:  5:50 p.m.  4 riders

Steven Sarson:  5:50 p.m.   4 riders

Susan Pyron:  5:50 p.m.    4 riders

John Pyron:  5:50 p.m.     4 riders

 

 

Christy Century Backward on a Blustery Spring Day

 "Rainy days should be spent at home

with a cup of tea and a good book."

Bill Watterson

(unless there is a brevet to complete or 

it is a gentle, warm rain good for 

riding in)

Me

 

On Thursday and Friday, I kept looking at the club calendar for a medium distance ride, fifty or sixty miles.  But nothing pops up.  The end of March is nigh and I only have one century under my belt, so despite  the wind prediction, I decide to put a century on.  There are reasons for this.  It has been two weeks since my last century and the endurance benefits are fading and I intend to ride next week-ends century.  It is only supposed to get down in the forties and there is supposed to be sunshine.  I have spent all together too much time inside this past week.  I know I will probably not ride an entire century if I ride alone and conditions get tough. And it is supposed to rain Saturday night and Sunday.  

I love it when it rains the day after a century.  It is as if God is giving me permission to rest and enjoy the fruits of my accomplishment.  I hold it similar to the way I would feel on a brevet when I would be riding alone through the velvet darkness passing houses where everyone was still sleeping and lights were out.  As if the world belonged to me and to me alone along with the rustling sounds that issued from roadsides.  The sound of a dog that you just can't place and that may or may not be a foe.  The deer that, startled, jumps from the roadside into the light of your hub light.  I rarely ride at night anymore, but I still remember it and cherish it.  And I cherish rainy days after a harder effort where you feel your rest is deserved.  God tells us, after all, that our body is a temple. 

I have my doubts as to whether anyone will show for the ride.  Most people in the club rarely ride a century anymore unless it is a Tour de Mad Dog Century, and this is not.  It is a route I have used before, but oddly have never ridden before because for today it is  backwards and has different store and lunch stops.  Strangely, that was not my intention when I put the ride on the calendar.  I intended to do the traditional Christy.  Then after either an email or text from Jon that he has decided to ride, I realize my mistake.  Despite the fact it is just more evidence of a mind sliding backwards, I see the humor in it.  And we run with it.

 

Jon does, indeed, show.  I make several trips over to the firehouse and see nobody.  Jon and I prepare to leave when Glenn arrives.  He says he had been there but left seeing nobody, then decided to do one last drive by and maybe try to catch me via his new GPS unit.  Like me, he has purchased a Wahoo.  Deciding what to purchase was a real struggle for me.  I really miss the street names that Garmin supplies and everyone I know who has one loves their new sun charged Garmin.  But my past experience with Garmin and their help desk soured me though I have heard from numerous people that it is now much improved.  In the end, I decide that I need something easy to use and this trumps all.   I still roam occasionally, but am more careful distance wise than in the past.  Anyway, the ease of use and the price distance were the final deciding factors.   Still, this Wahoo functions differently than my old Wahoo and I am still adjusting to the differences.  Some I like.  Some I don't.  

Glenn, Jon, and I take off.  I do worry about Glenn because I know I will be slow and Glenn is anything but slow.  He tells me it is fine and that he has been off most of the winter.  I tell him that is what Mike and Larry told me last century when they rode with my group rather than the front group they often ride with.  Winter was hard this year unless you love indoor training.  

 

It feels strange to be stopping for a first store stop at a bit over 16 miles, but as I tell Glenn, the next store will not be until the late forties or more in North Vernon.  The wind is strong and we talk about how we will have a long stretch right into it at the end of the ride.  Despite the fact it is supposed to warm ten degrees during the day and the sun come out, nobody takes off a layer throughout the day.  I came close, but am glad I didn't.  I never sweated heartily enough to justify stopping and I hate those rides where I have to stop and keep putting things on and taking things off.

 

Daffodils seem to be blooming everywhere and I love how they brighten the earth. Nothing screams spring so much as daffodils.  When I see the first one, I know spring is real and I made it through another winter.  The purple flowers that blanket fields are just starting, not yet brilliant but beginning to show in the way that makes you look twice to ensure it is not just your imagination giving you what it knows you want to see.   No Redbuds or Dogwoods yet and none were expected.  Fields remain neglected, remains of last years harvest on their faces, awaiting plowing.   I tell Jon it won't be long now and the farmers will begin.  Soil will be turned or no-tilled.  The greening of the earth is beginning, but it still lacks the brilliance that will come.  Trees are starting to bud out, but the green mist that will appear and burgeon has not yet arrived; it is only promised in the blurring of their stark outlines. 

 

 Glenn rides ahead and we don't see him again until the next store stop in Vernon.  I am glad he feels he can do this.  I tell both him and Jon about my granddaughter at the museum last week-end.  We were passing some ancient pottery on display and I hear her tell her little sister, "These are really, really old.  They're even older than Grandma."  How I laughed.  And the point of the story is that I don't want anyone who rides to feel they have to stay back with Grandma.  Grandma put this route together and is very familiar with the roads and when I point them together, I was alone. Indeed, while I love to share a course I put together, I would rather ride alone than have someone have to ameliorate their pace to match my slower one.  I was once fast enough to know how painful that slowness can be.  

 

Before the lunch stop, Glenn begins to fade and asks me to reach and get him a gel.  I suggest we stop and he get it not saying but thinking it would not be good if I knocked both of us down onto the pavement trying to reach into his pocket.  While we are stopped, I think of one brevet where Steve Rice was too cold to retrieve his gel and how I had to help him since his fingers were no longer working the way they should. This leads to the time I could not get my gloves back on my damp hands and he put them on me as if I were a child.  We are very near lunch when this happens and we reach the lunch stop with no issue.  Unfortunately, the restaurant is not yet open but the winery is with a reduced menu.  I tease Jon about my being right about the opening only to later find neither of us was right.  The opening was not this week-end as he believed or next week-end as I believed, but this coming Wednesday. 

 

The waitress is familiar with us as we ride there in the summer quite often and brings a round of water with lemon for everyone without even asking.  The food is delicious though a bit on the pricey side.  Surprisingly, service is quick despite the nice size crowd there when we arrive. Lunch seems to revive Glenn and while he stays with us the rest of the ride, he could obviously drop me if he would like as could Jon.  

 

After lunch the sun is out full blast, but the wind has not dropped and remains strong, flags whipping out wildly.  At times, it is slow going,  but if you are going to ride, you have to accept that there will often be wind trying to push you backwards.  On the reverse side, there are times when it pushes you forward, but not on this ride, at least at this point in the ride. Toward the end it is all headwind.  We decide that with the late lunch, we don't need another store stop and finish the ride out.  The last half mile or so is the only little bit without a head wind and it is good to turn and have just a crosswind.  It is even better to see the end.   I have enjoyed the ride and while I could ride further if necessary, my strength is ebbing.

But I like knowing that I did not waste the day and that I have prepared myself for the next century.  The wind made the preparation even more valuable as it tests not only the body, but the mind, and in distance riding one's mind is just as or more important, that ability to work through the times you want to stop but really don't have to.  Maybe life is like that at times?  Anyway, it was good to see spring. And now I can sit and read and write and listen to the rain outside with the satisfaction of knowing my body really does need the rest and recovery and that I did not waste the week-end and what turned out to be, following a cloudy morning, beautiful spring day.  Even though I am not as old as the pots in the museum, I still am old. The day is coming when this door will also be closed to me, but not yet.  I am blessed. 

 

 

5 Bridges Century: Stage 1: Tour de Mad Dog 2025

"The most difficult thing is the

decision to act, the rest is mere

tenacity.  The fears are paper tigers. 

You can do anything you decide to do."

Amelia Earhart

 

It was one of those days when it was hard to force myself to go out and play.  It would have been easy to talk myself out of it with the wind prediction and the cold.  I weary of the cold.  All week the temperature prediction kept coming down and the wind prediction kept going up.  Plus, the winter has not been conducive to activity.  Weather along with cataract surgery impeded fitness and made me soft despite hiking when permitted.  This was not just any century.  It was a 107 mile century with somewhere between four to five thousand feet of climb. Lastly, I would need to start to the ride in the dark.  Like any human, I use excuse after excuse to justify laziness, but experience has taught me that while there is always the weird exception to the rule, I am almost always happy that I forced myself out the door and rode.  Today would turn out to be no exception.

 

I arrive and am the first in the parking lot, but it is not long before others join me.  Thomas Nance, John Dippold, Fritz Kopatz, Larry Preble, Mike Kamenish, Bob Grable, and Dominic Wassserzug are there as well as the ride captain and course designer, Jon Wineland.  Shivering, we sign in, and then make our final decisions as to what to wear.   There is only supposed to be about a 10 degree temperature change throughout the day which makes it easier, but I still opt to carry a light backpack for possible shedding.  Larry heads off into the wind for a pre-ride check for clothing accuracy.  The others, like me, seem to be adding and shedding before making a final decision.

 

Soon we are off.  Shortly after our start, the sun comes out which makes a huge difference, both mentally and physically.  And with the first hill, we all warm up. The group quickly splits into two groups with Larry Preble, Thomas Nance, Fritz Kopatz, Mike Kamenish, and  John Dippold pulling ahead.  Thomas rides quite a bit with the Ridenfaden club throughout the winter and is always strong, thus his Mad Dog Name of Thomas the Train.  And I know Fritz does Zwift.  When I first met Fritz, for some reason I thought he would be a slower rider.  Instead, as people talk about later in this ride, he is one of the strongest riders in the club.  I'm not sure how John trains or how he rides.  I can't remember if this is the rider who came to Medora late or not.  Mike later reveals he also has been Zwifting and Larry reveals he has just re-started outside rides after being off due to personal tragedy. Regardless, they are all three quite strong. 

 

Most of the climbs in this ride, the major climbs anyway, are in the first part of the ride.  The Garmin shows three climbs,, the Wahoo shows eleven.  The climbs that Garmin shows, are all before the first store stop. Shortly after one climb, Bob Grable comments on our "blistering" pace of a bit over 11 mph.  I just giggle having expected this.  You can't put the bike away when it turns cold and not train inside and expect to have fall legs.  And we do pick the pace up so that we end with over a 12 mph average. I am not sure what the average turns out to be as I struggle with my new Wahoo and lose my mileage and data half way through but someone said it had risen.  Regardless, my goal is to finish and hopefully finish without it becoming a death march where I begin to hate cycling and myself for coming.  I have no illusions of finishing with speed.  Indeed, I have my daughter on call in case I am unable to finish.  

 

The last climb before the first store stop is voluntary.  It is a descent down to the bridge and then back up the way you came.  I toy with the idea of  not doing it, but someone mentions the bathrooms at the park there and so I descend making straight for the facilities.  Despite the hours sign on the door, the door is locked and the park office is closed.  I turn around to go to the store telling the others and momentarily blaming it on Trump forgetting that it is a State park and not a National park.   Jon reminds me of this fact and I laugh at my quickness in accessing blame.  My laughter dies during the climb but remains in my head because we humans are so weird, myself included.  Indeed, at one point during the ride someone, I think Bob, is talking about someone (not a rider) being strange and it strikes me as hilarious as I point out to him that most people are not out here riding 107 miles with a headwind for the first half in cold weather and that many might find this activity strange.

 

We hit the first store stop.  I playfully tease Mike about us now having a jump on Dave King who is not here today.  (Mike, Dave, and I are the only three riders who have completed the tour every year since its inception in 2004).  After a quick feed, I head out ahead of the others as I am starting to chill.  No need spending energy on goosebumps.  Bob goes with me.  Soon the others, minus Dominic, show up.  When asked, they said they could not find Dominic and Jon tells me Dominic said he was not really feeling up to par and might bail.  The assumption  is that he either left before  all of us and we will eventually catch him or he went home.   I feel a bit sorry for Jon as I know it is worrying to lose riders when you are captaining.  Believe me, I know. I think I am the only LBC captain that once lost ALL the riders on her route.  (While chasing a group that went off course and never catching them, the front group went off course.  I thought I was chasing them, crossing flood waters while carrying my bike,,  and ended up at the ride ending alone.  I had just gotten in when I received a phone call from one of the riders asking where I was.  I felt so badly about it but also saw the humor. Not sure about the riders.

 

Anyway, when we reach the first covered bridge, Busching Bridge, Larry and Mike are waiting for us.  They say that Thomas, John, and Fritz have sprinted ahead.  Larry said he had wanted to spend some time photographing the bridge. Mike and he will ride with us the rest of the day.   I enjoy this as I rarely ride with either any more and Mike is cracking me up with the occasional off color joke as he used to do. The only time we will see Thomas, John, and Fritz again is at the lunch stop.  They are getting ready to leave when we arrive.  They sign in as finishing an hour ahead of the rest of us.

 

 

Before lunch we pass Otter Creek Covered Bridge and Westport Covered Bridge.  I don't stop with the others and keep pedaling as I am really starting to feel worn out and beginning to worry about finishing.   We never catch Dominic and Jon does not have his phone number.  We talk about it over lunch.  I had warned Jon prior to lunch that I intended to eat quickly and leave before the rest so as not to slow everyone down, however, it turns out everyone but Jon eats quickly and is ready to leave.  Right before we finish, however,  Dominic walks in.  Somehow Jon missed seeing his bike when he left the store. Dominic then went a bit off course. Evidently a dog came out and caused him to miss a turn.  (Lots of dogs on this route as is often the case in Indiana).  Jon stays to eat with him.  The rest of us take off.

 

I find that lunch has revived me and determine to stay with the others who assure me they want to ride with me and are okay with a slower pace. I find that while I was in the store, I lost the direction arrows on my Wahoo. This and only this keeps me from heading out and letting them catch me since they were all using the facilities and I am not. I end up having to end the ride and restart and reload the route, but I do get my arrows back, a huge relief.  The others tease me for my dependence on the arrows.  I don't apologize.  Mentally, I go back in time to when we rode before GPS with just a cats eye  and a written cue sheet, or in my case, occasionally with a pocket full of sidewalk chalk so I would know my return route.  How hard I often pedaled to be sure that I was not left somewhere in the middle of nowhere not knowing where to go.  But oh, how fun those days were.  

 

When we reach the third store stop, Dominic and Jon come in before we have finished and we all leave together.  Prior to this, an old woman stops her car in the parking lot, waving her finger at us and telling us to be careful.  Okay, Mom.  I am fine with this.  As I told the others, it is a refreshing change from being yelled at for being on the road.

 

Soon after leaving,  I realize that Jon and Dominic are not with us.  Someone tells me that Dominic was starting to cramp.  I have feared cramps the entire ride.  They are still not the norm for me, but I do get them more than I used to and I know I am asking a lot of my muscles today.  We have been riding long enough and are tired enough that chatting is beginning to fade and everyone is thinking of the finish.  My knees are achy and I am so glad there are no long climbs before the end.   I can't say I am unhappy to see the end, but I find I am glad that I rode.  I don't feel like doing a jig, but I also feel better than I anticipated feeling.  Despite my lack of training, I have felt worse following other rides.  We sign in and shortly thereafter Jon and Dominic pull in.  Dominic said he ate something and it seemed to take care of his cramps.

 

For this ride, as is often the case when conditions are too hot, too cold, too windy, just not ideal, the hardest part was getting out the door.  Fear is, indeed, a paper tiger.   Tonight I will rest with my fear of not being capable of finishing assuaged.  Until the next hard century.  But, oh, how happy I am that riding season is back.  Another spring.  I am blessed. 

 

A Warm Day in January: Relatively Speaking

"Freedom is the oxygen

of the soul."

Moshe Dayan

 

 What a day it was to be out on the bike!  A treat after being sedentary from cataract surgery.  To ride was like coming home.  The wind seemed to welcome me and I knew without looking that my cheeks had been slapped to the point of being ruddy.  I knew without looking that a smile had eased the wrinkles that now haunt my face so deeply and thoroughly.  Oh, I thought, we normally talk of the arrogance of youth, but there is also, I suppose, the arrogance of health.  How I have missed being active and being outside.  How I have missed getting away from the news that causes my soul to despair. And there is no place I would rather be right now other than where I am:  on the seat of a bicycle exploring. 

I was starved for this, this feeling that I get when the road rolls itself out before me beckoning and promising.  When you ride outside, you never know what the road and the day may hold.  I have to pay more attention to the road than is my wont due to the occasional patch of ice that has hidden itself in the shade of a tree.  But I see so much more clearly now and, since my pace is slow, I do not fear that I shall miss one and take a tumble.    The snow is mostly melted from the fields, but in the forested areas it remains, a reminder of what has been.  Despite the fact I am heartily sick of it, it is beautiful.  God works in unexpected ways and his sending the snow and ice certainly made acceptance of my required down time more acceptable.  

As I near home, there is a lone turkey in the road.  I then see his friends in the neighboring field and laugh as the rafter runs for safety.  Overhead, two or three times, Sand Hill Cranes pass overhead purring.  My phone rings and I ignore it.  I laugh out loud like a crazy woman.   I try to ignore my legs which are telling me it is time to stop, but their grumbling soon overcomes my pleading and we make the final turn for home.  Despite the shortness of my ride, only thirty miles or so, today my soul got what it needed from my short spate of freedom.   And I do so look forward to seeing the earth wake up with my new eyes that see colors and shapes so much more brightly than before.  I have truly been blessed. 

Bethlehem 2024

"Great is the art of beginning, 

but greater is the art of ending."

Henry W. Longfellow

It always has a tinge of sadness, these last few rides before the end of the Tour de Mad Dog.  It also, however, makes me appreciate each and every rider in the tour, even those that I don't know well and have never really had a conversation with.   Somehow, even though I ride with very few of them anymore, anchored to slowness by age, I feel a closeness to them, a connection, a protectiveness, a desire to see them warm, happy, and well.  For we have shared something in getting our ten, in making the determination that we would be finishers:  hills, heat, rain, wind, comradeship, distance, laughter, hunger, and on and on.  How strange that an individual bond is also, somehow, a group bond.  Each wants the other to be successful.  Some think it just for the jersey, but as for me, I think it goes beyond the jersey somehow.  There is, in the end, a sense of completion, of fulfillment.  The words of Moliere come to mind: "It is a long road from conception to completion."  Yes, we have traveled many miles to get here.  At least one thousand.

I am delighted at the forecast.  It is so nice to have a ride and not have to worry if there will be rain or excessive wind and decisions to make about whether it will even be safe to have the ride. This particularly applies when one is captaining a ride.  It is one thing to be responsible for oneself.  It is another thing to be responsible for others.   Indeed, it turns out to be the best century riding weather we have had this year.  I start with arm warmers that I know I will soon discard as we roll into the cool of the morning.  I can say I am not unhappy that the last two stages are easier ones, if there is such a thing as an easy century. 

As we ride, I try to remember when I put this route together.  It was before RWGPS.  I remember it took three or four tries to poke through from Bethlehem to Hanover without hitting gravel.  I remember going back into the deserted power plant, Marble Hill, to try to find a road along the river that the paper map said existed but that I never found.  It was eerie back there, the large deserted building, a tribute to poor management, and my fear got the better of me.

I think how I miss those days, the days of exploration when I had more endurance, speed, and energy, but I know I am blessed to be out here.   The group of 18 divides quickly with the faster riders hammering the flat stretch into the first store stop following the climbs on Hebron Church Road.  The back group sees the front group at the first store stop and at lunch.  By the third store stop, they are so far in front that we do not catch them.  And I am fine with that.

For me, fall rides are to be savored not savagely devoured.  And it has always been this way for me. Despite the legs being strong from summer rides, it is time to slow down and to absorb the beauty of the ride for future recall when the winter comes, dull and gray, and the wind howls and keens outside my windows.   There is no need to hasten the end of the comfortable riding season.  Yes, you can stay warm in winter with the correct clothing, but it is just not the same as heading  out in shorts and a short sleeved jersey with  merely some arm warmers to knock off the morning chill. 

 

True, there is not much color yet, but despite the heat you can feel it in your bones, this change of seasons.  Some fields are harvested and some wait.  The soy bean fields always remind me of the stubble on a man's chin when he is on vacation and is not shaving.  I feel the sun caressing my skin, warm and comforting, and I try to let it soak into my very being knowing that soon I will shiver and cringe inside my warm clothing regretting all those times I bitched about the heat. The wind is there when you head into it, still gentle but telling me of what is to come, the increased effort, the slaps about the face. 

 

A couple of times we pull over to allow large farm machinery to pass.  Or at least most of pull over.  I feel a tinge of upset at those that don't.  These farmers are working.  We are playing.  And the importance of their work far exceeds the importance of ours.  The farms here are small.  Most of the farmers work other jobs.  The week-end is when they do their planting or harvest.  Some even use vacation days to sow and reap.  For some it is a job.  For others an act of love.  

This ride brings so many memories for me.  It was the ride I used to put on the first week of December.  We would ride and mail Christmas cards from Bethlehem.  It was the ride where it quite often rained and where the wind was usually from the west in our faces all the way back.  It was the ride where at the last store stop, I realized that even the strong riders were as tired as I was for while it is a rather easy century with only about 4,000 feet of climb, the west wind somehow makes it a difficult century.  To me, wind is more difficult than most hills, because you climb and crest a hill.  The wind remains.  It was the ride where my daughter had to ferry home three riders who were unable to finish one year, one of whom is on this ride and two that I have never seen before.  It was raining and cold that year and hypothermia was a real possibility.  The woman working the Subway gave us the plastic gloves they make sandwiches with to put under our gloves and cleaned up the large puddles we left on the floor.  But it is time to stop remembering and move on.

At lunch, John Pellgrino  and  Amelia Dauer produce coupons for Subway.  Steve Puckett goes to McDonalds but the rest of eat here:  Paul, Amelia, John, and Bob. Dominik has been with the front group but has decided to fall back with us so he has already eaten.  While I am not a Subway fan, the food is delicious when shared with friends and sauced with laughter and stories.

 

 The front group is getting to leave when we arrive.  I ask Amelia if she thinks Clothes Line, Glenn, will forget his backpack again.  She grins and says she had the same thought.  But I figure he had learned his lesson.  Jon Wineland stays behind to have a bit of a chat with us before taking off.  He and a couple others, Chris Quirey (who later tells me he only made one stop due to family obligations) and Vince Livingston ride as lone wolves.  While I often prefer riding alone over group riding, this is not one of the days, and the back group is unusually large for a stage as there are now, after the lunch stop, seven of us.  

No big events happen on the rest of the ride other than Bob Grable being kind enough to turn around and patronize a little girl who had set up a lemonade stand.  I think it shows a certain kindness that is part of his character that he does this.  I like this about Bob.  It makes me think of PBP and the children handing out drinks along the way.  Kindness in this world is greatly underrated. It should be encouraged and valued.  We wait for Bob at the last store stop and head out to finish the century.  Many today are getting their tenth in and I am happy for them.  Two, Steve Puckett and Dominick Wasserzug, need Medora.  For them, I hope it does not rain and force me to cancel.  The group splits in places, the demands of the short but steep climbs taking their toll, but those in the front wait for us, patiently and unasked.   I realize later that I never thank them for this for it is not to finish in a group of five for point purposes, but in the true spirit of the Mad Dogs where no dog is left behind.

Following the ride, five of us have pizza together:  Amelia, Paul, Jon, Dominick and myself.  There is laughter and stories and the justified satiation of hunger, for we have used our bodies today and they need replenishment.  Food is always much better when one is truly hungry, something I will sometimes forget in the upcoming boredom of the winter months when I spend much more time indoors and alone.  And there is an ending.  Not yet of the tour, but of the day.  Tonight I will sleep, something else my body needs.  Oh, yes, I am blessed.  19 years of completing the tour along with the two others who have done so:  Dave King and Mike Kamenish, neither of whom rode today.  Life is, indeed, good. 

Short Frankfort: Thomas Nance Version 2024

 "Memories warm you up 

from the inside.  But they 

also tear you apart."

Haruki Murakami

 

 

When I decided to put the Short Frankfort century on the schedule, a century I have not done for a number of years, I did not realize how memory soaked these roads would be.  Prior to putting the century on the schedule, I contacted Dave King as he had been saying that he wanted to do this ride and eat at Qdoba. I tell him I want to put it on the schedule, but I don't want to drive all that way and ride alone.  At first, I thought it would not work for him, but then he says that it does and so I enter it on the club schedule.

In the end, Chris Quirey, Dave, Paul Battle, and I ride.  You could have knocked me over with a feather when Paul arrives as he does not normally ride centuries, but as always I am glad to see his face for he is, indeed, a treasured friend.  As we roll out into the unaccustomed coolness, Paul turns back for arm warmers.  Dave jokes that he wishes he had brought his jacket.  None of us have acclimated from the long stretch of ninety degree, humid weather to this cooler, dryer air.  We wait at the turn and when he arrives, take off.  I think I am glad for my sun sleeves.  They are thick enough to mask the chill, but not thick enough to be uncomfortable...yet.

When we turn off of Old Taylorsville, I think how long it has been since I have ridden this road that I used to ride regularly.  The road is busier now, but it is not scary busy, just annoyingly busy.  As  we pull out further from the park, the traffic lessens.  For some reason, I think of being on Mike Pitt's wheel on this road and how I struggled to hold the pace we were going.  Maybe I think of him because Paul mentioned that he was in Michigan with Tom and Sonia.  Maybe I would have thought of it anyway.  Oh, how that man could make me laugh. Thus begins a day of cascading memories along this route.  

 Paul and I spend the entire day together, and both of us have memories of this route.  At the turn toward Southville, all of a sudden I am back on a 600K.  I am making the turn toward the motel where I will snatch a couple hours of sleep and Alex Mead and Todd are heading out to finish the brevet without stopping.  It is dark out, probably near midnight, but we exchange greetings as we pass, knowing each other only because, other than brevet riders, nobody else is on the road on a bicycle at this time of night.  I remember the spill of the light on the pavement and my tiredness and thinking that there is no way I would want to finish without a few hours of sleep, but then I have never been the swift riders that those two are.  Just me.  Plodding along.  Determined, but at my own pace having learned that this is the path to success of brevets.....your own pace, a pace that will vary throughout the ride.  I always thought it so odd on brevets how you would think you were depleted and suddenly a spurt of new energy would randomly appear giving spring to your legs.

I briefly think of how I would love to do PBP again, but then I wonder about the wisdom of doing so for me health wise even if I could do it again for I have been diagnosed with osteopedia and I would like to keep it from sinking into osteoporosis.  I have read that this can and can't be done and am in the process of trying to find out more. So much conflicting information.  While cycling, apparently, is bad for your bones, I don't believe I will give it up.  It brings me too much pleasure and eventually we end in one way or another though I am afraid of pain.   I will just try to be sure I continue to lift weights and walk on other days and eat enough calcium.  Today my pre-ride meal differed and even before my diagnosis I had switched to often having milk at store stops. 

Soon we are at Southville.  Both Paul and I wonder if it is open.  It looks closed but there is a light on inside.  On the way back, I notice a chair propped in front of the front doors and determine it is definitely closed.  This makes me sad as I remember so many rides stopping there and so many riders that no longer ride.  Vicky and Ron Dobbs come to mind as do Grasshopper (who rides an ebike) and Mike Kamenish (who still rides).  I think of Mike and I when we did this century during Hurricane Ike and how, on the way back, when we stopped, I got a pop but tried to drink facing the wrong direction.   Before I could get it to my lips, the wind pulled most of that much needed liquid out of the can leaving it mostly empty.  I had not been able to drink because I could not take my  hands off the handlebar because the wind would  violently grab it, and I was so thirsty and in need of some energy.  I remember the wind playing with the road signs, toppling some of them.  But we finished as I kissed Mike's wheel as I had done the entire day glad he had come to ride and even gladder that no new century riders had shown up to ride.  

Paul stops to try to find the route on his computer.  He had not started it as  he did not think the battery would  last long enough, but though he thought he had downloaded it, he had not.  We get a bit turned around coming out of the first store stop as we went to a different store than we normally frequent, but soon we are back on course.  

 

All around us is green and I rejoice in it knowing that all too soon, winter will rob the world of color and my eyes will starve from spring.  Occasionally I see iron weed and think of the brother I lost last year when the iron weed was in bloom.  I think of how I wish we had been closer as I was to my other siblings, but even had he lived I somehow doubt this would have happened.  Our life views and values were just too divergent.  Sadness seeps into my heart at the loss, at all the losses.  But I shake off any trace of melancholy in my appreciation of the beauty of the countryside.  Fields of corn that are just starting to brown at the bottom.  Bales of hay scattered throughout fields.  At one spot, they are even  putting up square bales, something that I rarely see anymore that was a norm when I used to help with the hay and straw.  Fall definitely approaches and I wonder where summer went. 

 

Dave and Chris pull away, and by the time we reach the first store stop it is apparent that there will be two different paces today.  I tell them to head on and Paul and I will stay together.  Dave says he has decided he wants to eat at Chick Fil A rather than Qdoba.  This surprises me but I am fine with it though I don't know where in Frankfort it is.  I am not the biggest Qdoba fan though I will eat there, and recently I have felt no pull toward Mexican cuisine, maybe because of the extreme heat we have been experiencing for what seems like forever. 

As it turns out, other than when they are heading out from the third store stop, this is the last I see of Chris and Dave.  I think I am glad that they both came so they were not held back by my pace.  I know at least Dave has plans for the evening that are important to him.  I hope they both enjoy the ride.

 

Paul talks about riders that used to ride these roads with him:  Adrian Hands, Jay Palmer, Lynn Roberts, Debbie Brown (?),  and Allison Ebert among others.  Most of the riders he mentioned I never met other than Lynn.   I think of riders that used to ride these roads with me:  Bill Pustow, Steve Sexton, Steve Rice, and others. Some stories I keep to myself, as I am sure does Paul, but others we share in the way that friends do, sharing a bit of our lives that the other was not present for but were, for some reason, important to us.  Sometimes you know why you remember something, but other times, at least for me, it is a mystery why I hold on to a particular remembrance. At one point, I see a place where I remember stopping and sitting in the grass with Bill and Steve R. while a caterpillar crossed the road and, despite the light traffic, did not make it.  I wonder why we were stopped there because I don't remember.  Did someone have a flat?  Were we just taking a brief rest?  The reason eludes me even as I remember the smell of the grass and warmth of the day and the laughter and camaraderie.  

When we pass a curve, I remember a century ride with Steve Rice, Bill Pustow, and Larry and an incident about a camera that happened, one of those incidents that can be viewed as cruel or funny depending upon  your point of view.  I miss those days when Bill, Steve, and I often did two centuries each week-end and were so young and strong.  But even as they tear at my heart, I am grateful for those times despite the fact they are gone never to return.  Not everyone has such memories.  

Paul and I arrive at Frankfort and circle capitol building.  They are doing construction which disrupts the circle a bit but no significantly and I realize that it was during the pandemic that I last did this route.  I think I remember that they had small American flags in the back, one for each person in the state who had died of COVID.  We pass the restaurant where both Paul and I remember sharing meals with others on rides and decide the reason we quit eating there is because of the climb that comes afterward.  We both bemoan the stop light that always seems to catch us but that comes right when you are about to complete the climb. This time, miraculously, it does not catch either of us. At the top we look but and don't see Chik Fil A so eat elsewhere.  I text Dave and Chris though I expect they have eaten and departed. As we leave, we see it but we see no bikes so head onward.  

Both of us are tired but enjoy the company and memories on the rest of the journey.  On Pea Ridge, I think of another brevet when I was with Dave and I accused him of trying to kill me.  Dave loves to go fast on Pea Ridge, and I had ridden with him all day and was not about to let him drop me.  Pedaling like a mad woman, somehow I hung on and we finished together, but I was done.  I think of how Steve Sexton once told me it was his favorite road and how I miss his company.  I think of the brevet where it rained all day.  Steve and Bill had made fun of me for wrapping my lights in plastic wrap, but by the time we left Pea Ridge, they had to stay with me as I was the only one who had a working tail light.  

 

We reach the parking lot at around five and Chris and Dave are long gone.  We are tired but glad to have ridden some roads that hold memories for both of us.  And yes, memories are a Janus.  I am grateful for them and for the people I have been fortunate enough to know and have in my life, but on the other side there is the sadness of the passage of time and the changes that it brings for nothing is ever stagnant.  Thanks, Paul, for your company.  Today we have made new memories that might come back to us if we ride these roads again one day.  

First Time Dillsboro Century

"I don't let my age

define me, but the 

side effects are getting

harder to ignore."

Anonymous

 

I have to admit, seeing the climbing profile in Ride With GPS (which turned out to be much higher that the actually climb recorded with my Wahoo on the ride), I was a bit hesitant about this ride, particularly in the heat of summer and the threat of possible gravel.  (RWGS showed 17 miles of gravel and it turned out there was none as Jon predicted).  It is not that I won't ride gravel:  I do and enjoy it at times.  But taking my gravel bike would slow me down even more than my already slow pace this year.  And there is no denying it.  I am riding MUCH slower than last year.   But the words from Lee Ann Womack's song, "I Hope You Dance," float through my brain....."May you never fear the mountains in the distance, Never settle for the path of least resistance."  And so, I decide to dance.

Because I initiated the ride, and it is with two much stronger riders than I am,  Jon Wineland and Chris Quirey, I tell them I will leave a half hour early and allow them to catch me.  Neither seems particularly bothered by this which makes me glad for I know that I will not enjoy the ride nearly so much if I am having to push my pace.  I will worry that they want/need to go faster.  Together they will do well.  Their paces are similar.  And once they catch me, we will ride as a group.

And so I take off into the deceptive chill of morning, a morning that is hiding humidity that will raise its head later in the day though, mercifully, not as badly as in previous weeks.  As the ride starts in Madison, it also starts with a climb.  I am glad it is not Thomas hill.  It is a long hill, but the climb is gradual and never gets very steep.  I know steeper hills are coming, but by then my legs will have warmed up more.  Another consequence of age, I suppose, is that I do not warm up as quickly as I used to.   

The sun is out and the recent rain has greened the countryside back up.  Almost immediately, a herd of deer cross the road in front of me, melting into the trees that line the road, wraith like.   I notice how the muscles in their haunches, so very powerful, coil and uncoil as they bound effortlessly,  rippling their fur. Once the sound of the leaves under their feet is gone, it is as if they were a dream.  At China Manville Road, I notice another deer, solo, pausing to watch me as I cross the bridge.  I am surprised it holds still long enough for me to photograph it and, after taking the picture, warn it that this behavior will not be safe in a few months when hunting season is again upon us. 

In just a bit, I startle two groundhogs who scuttle under a fence and inside a barn.  This rather surprises me, but I can only surmise that they have established a hole inside that barn that serves as their home.  Do groundhogs share a den if they are mates or only if they are still children sharing their mother's den?  Later I look it up and find some interesting facts about groundhogs.  They are also called Whistle Pigs and are a member of the squirrel family.  They have two dens:  one for summer which is usually in an open, grassy are and another in winter which is usually in a wooded area.  These are probably either siblings or a mother/child as mating season is in the spring after hibernation has ceased and the family disperses in the fall.  Regardless of all this information, I just know that they are quite cute so long as they are not digging in my yard and they bring a grin to my face.

Further up the road, my grin fades as I see two dogs up the road.  One is sniffing another dog who is lying in the road as if he is dead.  Sadly, I think the dog in the road was probably hit and this is his buddy, mourning him.  It makes me think of Susie and Laddie, dogs our family had when I was a small child. I don't remember Laddie, but I was told they were adopted together.  Someone hit Laddie with a car, killing him, and Susie was never the same.  She aged that day.  A smile of gratefulness reappears on my face as the lump in the road moves and rises, not dead but eagerly awaiting my passing so he can bark at me.  These are among the first of what turns out to be a rather doggy ride, but none that left me scared or worried about being bitten.  

I reach the first store stop without the guys catching me and eat my home-made energy bar, then head back out sure they will soon arrive for my pace is even slower than it normally is anymore.  I begin to stop and take photos when I pass a small, rather neglected looking graveyard surrounded by a crumbling stone wall.  There are many such walls I will pass today.  As Robert Frost noted, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall, that sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, and spills the boulders into the sun..."

While there are some fields, many of the roads are my favorite kind with trees that overhang the road and little traffic.  This does, of course, often means hills, land that is there undisturbed because it is harder to build on hills.  But I knew there were climbs coming into this ride, and it is not so hard on me with the guys still behind me.  

When I reach Friendship, I think for sure I will be climbing to get out, but instead it is a lovely, narrow lane.  On it is an old school, and I lay my bike down to take a peek inside despite the no trespassing sign.  I have no intention of going inside.  I just want to have a peek through the broken window.  The floor is partially gone and the smell is musty.  There is an old vanity inside and a few other objects.  All remnants of it being a school, however, are missing.  There are no old desks or blackboard.  Not even a stray pencil left behind.  I continue on thinking of how different life was then.  The school closed in 1925 so even the stories my husband told me of his one room school may not have applied here.  

I then pass an old house, long abandoned. As I ride on, as usual, I wonder about the people who lived there.  At what point do you decide a house is no longer worth keeping up and move on?  I have noticed in the past few years how many older people's homes deteriorate and am beginning to understand it.   There are thing a person could once do that they can't safely do anymore, and help is not only hard to find, but expensive if you do find it.  And as I climb, I notice that they guys are behind me.

I grin when I realize each of us has worn the same jersey:  the orange Mad Dog jersey Steve Rice designed all those years ago.   Together we ride on to the lunch stop in Dillsboro:  Janet's.  It is later in the ride, near 60 miles, my preference.  When we first enter, I worry a bit as it is so very crowded and there seems to be only one waitress.  But she gets our order and we get our food in good time and everyone seems satisfied. At one point I have to laugh and point out that we are a bit weird, coming out to ride 100 hilly miles on a hot day.  They also see the humor in this. 

 

 

 On the way out, I notice a board that I have only read about and never have seen first hand.  It has receipts on it.  People donate a meal, pay for it, and someone who is hungry can come in and will be fed the meal that is on the receipt.  It warms my heart when I see such kindness in the world, something that seems to be in rather short supply at times. I later regret that I did not contribute to it though it seemed to be overflowing with receipts.

Chris is interested when we pass an old missile silo that Jon found out about along the route.  Jon tells me that someone bought it and put a home underground in it that even contained a swimming pool.  I think of what it would be like living underground and don't think it would be for me, but it is good it was not wasted.

Despite our varying paces, we end up finishing the ride at about the same time and I appreciate their patience.  I would have been fine had they ridden on, but it was nice of them to share a bit of the day with me for I know I will miss this, the feeling of knowing that others are traveling the same path.  Age slows you down, has slowed me down anyway.  I have more trouble in the heat than I used to and I assume that, also, is age related.  But how blessed I am still being out here, on a bike, exploring and at peace in this beautiful countryside.  And what a nice century Jon has put together.