Ride Report on Buckner Riverdance

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, 

the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme,

and some stories don't have a clear beginning, 

middle, and end.  Life is about not knowing,

having to change, taking the moment and 

making the best of it, without knowing what

is going to happen next.  Delicious ambiguity."

Gilda Radner 

 

It is the last TMD stage of 2025, and as all endings seem to do, it brings mixed feelings.  Maybe more so than usual as I remain unsure if I will ride the tour next year and that if I do not, it is one of the few times I see many of the Mad Dogs.  I know I have said that before, but one of these times it will hold true.   It will just depend upon how this old body winters. 

 

Life, it seems, has so many changes and goodbyes, but it also has new beginnings and hellos.  As Gilda so wisely points out, delicious ambiguity. Will our decisions bring heaven or hell or, as I have experienced, a strange amalgamation of the two.    But then,  one thing I have always loved about riding.....you never know what awaits just around the coming bend in the  road.  I grin thinking of the time I first encountered Depot Hill, a hill on my Mangler ride, and internally said, "Oh, no, what have I done?" Still, it sometimes bothers me, all the stories I know the beginning of  but will never know the ending of.  Those that used to ride centuries and the tour and I don't know where they are or how they are doing or what their interests are. The children and people I encountered while working.  

 

Three of us have been finishers every year since the TMD inception:  Mike "Diesel" Kamenish, Dave "Bam Bam" King, and myself.  Twenty years is a long time.  We have shared much: sun, rain, wind, snow, hills, hugs, laughter, mechanicals, jokes, and more.  It will be hard to say good-bye.  I have never been good with good-byes however inevitable they may be.  Mike and Dave, I hope you know that I love you both and how much I appreciate, or more appropriately perhaps, treasure our friendship.  I will see what the winter brings and whether spring draws me out as is her wont whispering to come ride with her and she will share the glory of rebirth with me.  And, of course, there is the lure of our little competition as to who will be the last dog standing;-)

 

I can say I am no longer a fan of cold weather riding, and this last stage promises a cold beginning.  It is supposed to warm though, and while I know there are some climbs that will make my legs vow revenge, there are no 21 percent grades like last weeks century.  (Please remember, Dogs, that there is a catalogue on the LBC web site of most of the past tour stages, some of which have not been done in a long time).  An additional attraction is that it is a course we have not done for awhile.  

 

Experience has taught me, that soon I will be longing for a day with today's temperatures.  It has also taught me that if I don't ride, by this afternoon I will regret that decision.   Fall is so brief.  Already many trees stand bare and exposed.  There is beauty there, daguerreotypical in nature. I have always wondered why, in so many older photos, people do not smile but face the camera grim faced and stern with no welcome on their face or in their eyes.  Winter has a cold, stark beauty reminding me of magazine models who are so physically perfect but have no warmth in their smiles.   So, I pack my gear, make sure my bike is ready, and head out into the dark to the ride start.  Despite my cursing under my breath, my whining, and my procrastination, it is just what I do. 

 

I had contacted Fritz earlier asking him to be honest about whether he would prefer I stay home as I feel fairly certain I will be the slowest rider and he will feel obligated to stay with me.  It is not so bad when a ride captain only captains once and sweeps, but Fritz has captained more than his share this year.  And Fritz is so fast.  There is more than a little disparity between our speeds. He assures me it is okay.  I had forgotten, however, that the time has changed and that I can head out a bit early.   I truly don't want to be a bother.  I also know from much experience as a Ride Captain, that cold and hard riding conditions shorten patience and tolerance, at least for me. 

 

One thing that always gets me about hard courses this time of year is that you know you will soon lose any strength you gain from riding them.  This is not a hard course, per say, but it has numerous climbs.  In the spring and summer you can console yourself or talk yourself through the painful moments knowing that your legs are hardening and that the next ride will be made easier because of it.  You know that the hill that seems insurmountable today will not seem quite so steep or so long the next time you set out to conquer it. Because that is what we do with hills.  We use our strength to try to vanquish them. Those hard, painful rides make for the rides where you feel strong and as if you could ride forever and conquer any hill someone puts in your way.  But that consolation is lost in the fall when you know that winter will slowly leach away the strength you have built leaving you weak in the spring.  

 

There is a larger turn out than I expect as it seems that once the morning becomes raw and biting and people have their ten centuries in, they tend to chose the bed over the road.   15 people sign in:  Jon Wineland, Larry Preble, Steven Sarson, Bob Evancho, Michael Kamenish, Jerry Talley, Harley Wise, Todd King, Glenn Smith, Dominic Wasserzug, Sharon Jetter, Ken Johnson (unsure of that name), Tom Brag (also unsure of that name), and Fritz Kopatz.  

 

As I noted earlier, since it is daylight I roll out early hoping not to hold Fritz up too much during the ride.  Three others decide to roll with me:  Larry Preble, Jon Wineland, and Steve Sarson.  I am glad I have not only my rear view blinker but my front blinker on the bike today.  The fog is dense and I think to myself how true though banal the term "thick enough to cut with a knife is" when describing it.  Water is literally dripping off my helmet though it is not raining. My glasses quickly fog to the point where I realize I can't wear them and still see, so I prop them further down my nose to clear my line of vision.  This, however, impedes my seeing my GPS, but since I am following it is not a huge issue.  It is the best I can do with full finger gloves on.  I would have to stop to wangle them into a pocket, and I am not stopping. With no eye protection, the wind bites my eyes making me glad I remembered to use my artificial tears this morning but I know I will later pay the price with scratchy eyes.  But safety takes precedence.  

 

We ride through a construction site and not only is the pavement still wet, but there is lots of mud covering the road that is getting splashed onto my bike.  I think how I wish I had brought the Lynskey.  My new bike has never seen these conditions and I shudder internally at the thought of her drive train.  But the damage is done and I will not let one bad decision ruin the day.  At least there is a warm day predicted next week and I will be able to do a thorough cleaning.  

 

We ride together to the first store stop.  At one point I ask Jon if he thinks we will ever leave the yellow lined roads and get onto some rural country.  Jon knows these roads better than I because he rides them more regularly.  He assures me that we will. Inside the store is a young man curious about our riding.  When someone tells him where we started from and the time, he asks if they mean we started at eight the previous night.  It makes me think about how very little those who do not ride really understand those of us that do or what we do.  He then lights up a cigarette and I move outside, the smoke bothering me.  Prior to that, however, I did see that Sharon was riding.  I knew she needed this century to get her ten but I did not see her at the start, so I am really happy she is here.

 

I head out with a faster group but quickly decide to ride my own pace and little by little, they edge ahead.  I expect those behind me to catch me, but it never happens and I ride the rest of the day alone.  I truly am not unhappy with this development as it will allow me to ride and climb at my own pace without feeling that I have to ride harder or that I am holding anyone up.  It will allow me to savor scenery that might otherwise get screened out by conversation. Besides , I am in a pensive mood, not uncommon for me in the fall.

 

  Later, while doing the long climb up to Port Royal, I find myself thinking, for the first time in years, of sitting in my mother's lap while she read me "The Little Engine That Could."  "I think I can, I think I can" I say to myself with a huge smile on my face.  Thoughts and memories like this come so much more frequently when one is riding alone. 

 

At the start, people were concerned that Fritz had taken the route off of Carlisle Road and put it on 42.  Many say they are going to stay on Carlisle and I figure I will too, but since I am alone I stay on route. The only issue I see is that if Fritz and the others behind me take Carlisle and I don't, they could get in front of me.   Still, I figure that is better than turning around and maybe getting lost.

 

Frankly, I will say that 42 had little traffic and was quite scenic so I am a bit confused.   There were many, many busy roads on this century with little to no shoulder.  42 is not one of them.  It does not have a shoulder, but it just isn't that busy compared to quite a bit of this course.  I think three cars pass me in seven miles.  The only issue I see with 42 is that it dumps you out a bit earlier on 36 and 36 into town is not a pleasant road, even from Carlisle.  Jon knows a way around most of this and said Sharon shared that road with him, so if I would ever ride this century again, I will have to ask him.

 

Anyway, once on 36 I see the group just climbing the rise to the bridge to go to Welch's.  I don't know if it is Fritz or the front group, but I have decided just to stop at the gas station as I am not the Welch's fan that many are.  Once there, I text Fritz telling him what I have done and not to worry about me.  I later learn that Fritz also took 42, so it must have been the first group I viewed. After eating, I receive a text from Jon checking on me.  I tell him what I have done and head out.  I will see no other riders the rest of the day other than Todd who passes me coming in to town while I stop to check the cue sheet.  

 

I think more of what Thomas Nance said last century about people riding for different reasons and realize I never did address it.  Instead I spoke about the different types of riding which, while they may be a reflection of why people ride, does not really address it.  I decide that over the years, I have ridden for different reasons, and I suspect that is true of most of us.   Riding can be about winning.  It can be about companionship or it can be about solitude.  It can be about keeping weight off or losing weight.  It can be about fitness and staying in shape.  It can be about challenging yourself and your body and it can be about disciplining your body and yourself.  And so much more.  The main point, I suppose, is not to disparage someone for the reason they ride.  We may not understand the why, but it is important to them, and we are all united in our love the bike.  

 

I can't tell you much about what happened to the group during the ride.  I understand that a couple of people thought the coffee at lunch was not very good while another thought it was "okay."  I can tell you that if you ordered roast beef  you were served quickly, but otherwise you waited.  I ended the ride alone, passed only by Todd near the end.  A surprise for me as I expected to end the season as the chubby anchor.   I can also tell you that the photos of Welch's at lunch made me rather jealous, but I still think I made the right decision for me at the time.  Still, it made me smile seeing the smiles on your faces.  Maybe that is the perfect ending for the tour, or as perfect as it can be.  You took the moment and made the best of it. Well done, Dogs. 

 

To those Dogs I don't see again before spring or ever, have a wonderful holiday season.  May it fill and caress you with love and warmth and happiness.  Thank you for riding.  Dream of the spring when the tour will start once again though.  Dream of bicycles, challenge yourselves,  and COME OUT AND PLAY!   

 

 

 

 

Ride Report on Seven Springs

"The magic of autumn has seized the 

countryside; now that the sun isn't

ripening anything it shines for the sake

of the golden age; for the sake of Eden; 

to please the moon for all I know."

Elizabeth Costsworth 

 

I have ridden Thomas Nance's Seven Springs Century only once before, but I distinctly remember two things about it:  it is hard, really hard with lots of tough climbs, and it is lovely, really lovely, rural, and quiet.  In other words, it is my favorite type of ride as well as a ride that scares me a bit.  I applaud Thomas on its creation and for his contribution to the TMD this year as a ride captain.  

 

 I remember it as one of those centuries that would be perfect for a leisurely solo century when it is not too hot and not too cold and there are enough daylight hours to just go slowly and stop randomly to take photographs and to absorb the surroundings.  But of course, I can't do that when it is someone else's ride.  At least the leisurely part.  It will seem leisurely to Thomas and to the other strong riders that ride with me for they are capable of more.   Indeed, it may stretch their patience, but for me it will be an effort to keep a pace that is not too embarrassingly slow for I age and I weaken as life spins relentlessly forward draining my muscles and ligaments of their flexibility and strength.  Life mocks all our efforts to rein it in.  But we don't have to yield gracefully though perhaps it would be easier to do so. 

 

 I suppose it would have been rather simple to talk myself out of riding.  I have not been on the bike much in the past couple of weeks. It is going to be a raw day weather wise with a chance of rain before the end of the ride.  I have my ten centuries and am an official finisher. I have chores that need to be completed before the holiday season arrives.  But mainly, I may find, as will inevitably occur at some point in  time , that I can't climb the hills and meet the challenges that a good ride always presents, that my legs and my heart fail me.  But how much of life we miss if we stop challenging ourselves?  The lines from "I Hope You Dance" come to mind: "May you never fear those mountains in the distance.  Never settle for the path of least resistance."  But I don't kid myself, I do have fear of the mountains and the pain they inevitably bring as my legs strain themselves to obey yet cry for mercy. I just don't allow that to stop me.  

 

Inevitably the thought of the ride seduces me with the promise of fall and the glories she reveals as she disrobes for her winter sleep, her sinuous colored skirt twirling in the breeze, flirting with the breeze, daring it to completely disrobe her.  She knows that even disrobed, there will be a stark, clearly defined beauty in the stretch of her limbs toward the sky and the way they sway in the winter winds, their beauty when topped with a light layer of snow. There will not be many more long rides now that I don't do century rides throughout the year.  The leaves are near their autumn peak painting the roadsides with a riot of color and beauty to where I want to weep with the ache of something I can't name and don't understand and can't name. 

 

Maybe most importantly, many of these people I will only see once or twice again this year only meeting again in the spring when bicycles are pulled out of basements, garages, and sheds as the earth gives birth, green tendrils and leaves emerging tentatively and shyly, becoming bolder as the spring progresses .  I don't know why, but I have a special fondness for those that ride the TMD, a shared closeness that seems unmerited and unanchored in reality, but is there nonetheless, a silent heartbeat of caring perhaps welded by the challenge of the tour and the challenges she throws at us.  It is not an easy task.   Feelings are not, however, always anchored in reality.  But I will miss those that don't come back out, or all of you if I decide not to ride the tour next year. 

 

I know it will be a small crowd as experience has taught me that the end of the season has a smaller riding pool.  And this, as I mentioned, is a challenging course, possibly the club's hardest century.  When I arrive, it is not quite daylight.   I am glad to see Thomas has already arrived as I am never quite comfortable in a city in the dark by myself.  Soon the others arrive.  Those that sign in are Thomas Nance, Jerry Talley, Fritz Kopatz, Bob Grable, Sharon Jeter, Glenn Smith, Dominic Wasserzug, Todd King (unsure of last name), Jon Wineland, Larry Preble, and myself.  (Jon Wineland signs in late and catches us as he calls Thomas saying he is caught in traffic.)

 

Todd King is wearing a Cincinnati jersey and I ask him about it.  He says he lives in Florence but is down visiting his girlfriend.  It is good to see Sharon is riding. It has been a pleasure this year having Sharon, another female, on the tour though her strength far exceeds my own and I can't keep up with her. Just knowing that I am not the only woman that loves these rides is somehow important to me, particularly now that I am in the slow group.  I think it is important for men to see strong women.  I see a van pulling in and know it is Glenn. Jerry comes to sign in with a huge smile on his face.  I briefly think that I hope nobody has to try to ride this course with their cable tied off as Jerry did not long ago.  Fritz has a smile on his face as well and has a look of anticipation that I recognize and feel kinship with. Dominic, the youngest I believe, is here. I notice he has lost weight and looks fit.  Bob signs in and goes to see if the nearby hotel will allow him to use the restroom there.  I think how much stronger and leaner he has gotten over the summer.   He has been staying back with me on many rides, but that is now through choice rather than necessity. And Larry, of course.  One can always depend upon Larry to be at a TMD stage if he possibly can.  And of course, when Larry attends there will be a wonderful photographic capture of the ride.  His love for the ride shining through the videos he puts together.  And Thomas, always so stalwart and trustworthy.  I know that even if he is a bit disappointed by a slow pace, his impatience will never show.  

 

 Everyone chats a bit and people take quick spins checking what they are wearing to see if they are warm enough without being too warm. They look at each other to determine what clothing others have chosen for the day. I, personally, discard my heavier rain jacket for a lighter one and later and quite glad I did so.   It has not been cold long enough to be completely sure how to dress, but at least there is not supposed to be a huge temperature range.  Still, I have ridden enough hilly courses to know that no matter how you dress, you will often feel sweaty and stifling hot on the climbs and then chilled to your bones on the descents.  I remind myself that I need to drink regularly, something that can become difficult on cold rides but fights off the inevitable dehydration of a century ride.    

 

When we take off, the riders stay together for most of the greenway, but then split quickly into two groups.   Bob and I end up riding together.  I ask where Thomas is as I don't think he is with the group that just took off.  Bob doesn't know either and I wonder if Thomas decided to wait for Jon.  We ride on for I know both Jon and Thomas could catch me even if I did my best to keep that from happening.  (Though I must note that there WAS one time when I beat Jon on a downhill on a Montgomery overnight;-)  Kind of like the time I beat Scott Kuchenbrod on a TMD time trial. (Scott got lost;-)

 

I am amazed at how quickly we leave the city behind, still a city though her streets are still quiet and mostly deserted in the early morning hours.   Bob talks about how hard the roads are leading to Blunk Knob and he is not wrong, but I am aware that Blunk will be challenging. Last year, however, I did not find it as challenging in reality as I had made it in my mind.  In the end, after we climb today, I decide that it is the length as much or more than any steepness that makes it challenging.   This ride not only has lots of climbs (22 per my Wahoo), but many are long climbs with a couple, including Blunk, being about two miles long.  As I climb, I try to think of my breathing and I remind myself that just last year I was surprised that the climb was not more difficult.  I try not to think that last year I was on my Lynskey, and I find I have no trouble of the Calfee either though I can't say the climb was easy.

 

Thomas catches us right before the climb  and tells us he was just leaving when Jon  pulled in so he stayed and signed him in.  Jon said he would catch us at the first store stop.  A group of four young men pass us on the climb, legs straining, breathing deep and powerful. At first I thought they might be with our group, but I quickly see that is not the case.  Nobody seems to know who they are, but they are strong riders.

 

When we reach the store stop, Jon has not yet caught us.  The first group is there, but not Larry.  They ask us about him and say he did not arrive at the store with them.  We did not pass him on the way.  It is then that my phone rings.  It is Larry saying he is not feeling well and has turned around.  I also call Jon but get no answer so leave a message before we take off hoping he is well and a tad worried that he has not yet caught us.    While I often ride alone and know others do to, there is always that chance of a fall or accident and nobody knowing.  But then, cycling is essentially a dangerous sport. One accepts that or one doesn't ride. 

 

There are so few cars on the road it is amazing.  Thomas stops to take a picture of a creek and I notice that the Sycamores are almost completely bare, their slender white limbs reaching out over the creek as if in supplication.  They have always been one of my favorites in the winter.  Colored leaves litter the road in places, like confetti and while I appreciate their loveliness, I also know that, when damp, they are the bane of a careless rider causing many a fall.  But these seem dry and rustle at our passage.  Groups of  maples dance in shades of yellow, orange, and red.  We round a corner surprising a rafter of turkeys who take wing, their bodies looking much to large too allow flight, yet fly they do.  At one point, Jon notices an eagle who appears to have been hit and killed by a car while feasting on a racoon that did not make it safely across the road.  The sun unexpected comes out on this stretch, a treat for the mind and the eyes after days of overcast, gray skies. It does not hold the warmth of summer, but it does hold warmth and gives a bright gayness to the leaves that they did not have when clouds dimmed their brightness. 

 

We reach the lunch stop and the front group is still there.  There is only one girl working the store and she is frantically trying to mind the cash register and make sandwiches.  She is frazzled but keeps a smile the entire time.  Everyone is patient with her knowing she is doing her best.  She forgets one sandwich, I can't remember whose, and rushes to make it. And the sandwiches she makes are filling and taste delicious.  One thing I miss in winter when I am not riding centuries is the taste of food when one is truly in need of it due to a demanding physical activity.  One tends to forget how good food can taste when every cell of your body needs replenishing and when you are sharing the moment with friends.

 

There is some discussion about the wind and Fritz jokingly says it will be at our backs from now on.  I tease him back saying that there are no more climbs either.  But the majority of the climbs are over with, and much of the wind is, thankfully, tail wind.  The fast group leaves and it is Jon, Bob, and Thomas riding with me. When we leave the store, the sun has yielded to the clouds.  We briefly talk about getting back before the anticipated rain hits. And it gets colder.  All of us notice it.  And I am glad I did not shed my jacket. 

 

When we reach the third store stop, we find the front group did not stop but Dominic is waiting for us.  I am really starting to feel tired, but I don't know that I could ever get enough of this scenery.  I do know that the last nine or ten miles promises to be relatively flat and I comfort my legs with that.  We sit briefly on the curb together preparing ourselves for the last thirty miles.  Suddenly those nine flatter miles seem a million miles away.  Does the body or mind quit first when riding?  Sometimes I think one way and sometimes the other though  I once heard that the mind tells us to quit long before we have to.  

 

I would like to tell you that I climbed all the hills without walking, and I suppose I did.  It was merely a small bump in the road that brought me off my bike when the shifting started clanking.  I worried that my bike was broken, but it was merely my shifting, or so I think.   Because almost all my bikes have different shifters on them, sometimes I make a mistake.  And I "THINK" that is what happened.  Regardless, it was user error and the bike was fine.  We joke for a bit about whether they should all get a point for stopping to help since they waited for me.   And then we hit another hill, a long hill with steep parts, and while I don't walk and don't need to walk, I can no longer keep up.  I have the endurance, just not the speed. And distance riding has taught me the importance of going my own pace. My legs are pumping and giving me what they can and I am riding, but the group fades in front of me and I know that I can't catch them or keep up with them.  

 

I round a corner and they are waiting.  Perhaps I should stop, but I don't.  I feel a sense of shame at my weakness and I don't want them to see it.  But I accept that it is the best that I can do at this time.  And I am here.  That has to be enough. They follow.  We stay together the rest of the ride though I know they could drop me without even trying.  The sun comes out again near the end, her warm embrace comforting me.  When we finish, the first group is long gone.   Our average is 13.3.  Climbing, depending upon GPS, was anywhere from 6,300 feet to over 8,000 feet.   I am satisfied with that even while being disappointed that I could not ride more quickly.  The sun has receded again.  We got in before rain, but on the drive home it will sprinkle.  It would have been a cold finish had we gotten caught.  

 

On the drive home, I ponder something that Thomas said at the end, that we all ride for different reasons.  I realize that is certainly true.  Some enjoy flat city riding.  Some enjoy riding in the country.  Some enjoy the challenge of a hard course.  Some enjoy an easy course. Some prefer centuries, some sixty mile rides, and some shorter rides.  But we are all bound together by our love of the bike and none of the options for riding seem to be wrong ones.  We are blessed with our health, those of us who ride, and blessed with having a club that supports and nourishes those rides.  For those I don't see until the spring, I hope your holidays are blessed with love and laughter. But I hope it is not a long winter.  I will miss you.  

 

FINISHING GROUPS:

 

Glenn Smith    4:08   group of 4

Fritz Kopatz    4:08    group of 4

Jerry Talley     4:08    group of 4

Sharon Jeter    4:08    group of 4

Thomas Nance    4:34      group of 5

Dominic Wasserzug  4:34     group of 5

Melissa Hall        4:34     group of 5

Bob Grable        4:34     group of 5

Jon Wineland    4:34    group of 5 

 

 

RIDE REPORT ON MEDORA: TMD STAGE 19

"Memories are the treasures we keep locked

deep within the storehouse of our souls,

to keep our hearts warm when we 

are lonely."

Becky Aligada

 

It is finally here, the second Saturday of October.  This has come to mean, at least for me,  the  Medora Century, at least if the weather cooperates.  And today it does.  Sunshine and light winds.  A bit cool at the start though not as cool as it has been at times in the past, Warm enough for shorts without leg or knee warmers.  Later in the day it will be warm enough to discard arm warmers and vests and jackets and ride short sleeved.  Precious weather any time of year, but particularly with fickle October who often likes to tease us with a bit of warmth, then slap us with wind, cold, and rain.    

 

Medora is not the most scenic club century by far, but there is just something about it that I like.  Perhaps it is the countless memories I have made over the years, memories of those that still and those that don't still ride.  Or perhaps it is the ease of the course or perhaps it is just the time of year and the feeling of melancholy that stems from knowing the cycling season is, for many, coming to a close.  And I must not be alone because 35 people sign in  and I am unsure how many more from Ridenfaden and Southern Indiana Wheelmen are here.  The following people sign in on the pink sign in sheets:  Tom Askew, Larry Preble, John Killebrew,  Harley Wise, Paula Pierce, Glenn Smith, Dominic Wasserzug, Mark Rougeux, William Bicknell, Paul Battle, John Dippold, David King, Brooks Hellenbrand, Jackie Rountree, Fritz Kopatz, Steven Sarson, John Pelligrino, Amelia Dauer, Keith Baldwin, Steve Puckett, Sharon Jeter, Jon Wineland, Joe Bolan, Zeke Ledford, Mike Corus, Dan Barriere, Bob Grable, Jeff Schrode, Thomas Nance, John Mahorney, Andrew Degs, Brandon Havel, Mike Ngong, and myself.  (not sure of some of the spelling of last names).  

 

Most, though not all, are wearing pink of some type, honoring the town we are about to visit and the fight against cancer, a disease that affects so many of us.  This year I went with my pink witch hat at the start, pink socks, pink jersey and vest, and pink gloves.  I smile remembering how dismayed I was when Steve brought me back pink gloves when I asked him to pick up wool gloves for me.  I still see his smirking in my mind for nobody gets dirtier on a ride than I seem to do.  Who knew that they would come in so useful in the future;-)  Another memory. I also have bought myself pink handlebar streamers, something I desperately longed for as a child but never received (along with a banana seat bicycle that I never was lucky enough to receive and now, sadly, have outgrown). 

 

The TMD has had two pink reward jerseys though different shades of pink.  Some, like myself, have on the older jersey and some are wearing last years.  Others have jerseys that have pink in them.  Dave King is riding a bike that is partially painted pink.  Paula Pierce has her pink wig, though I think she gave it a trim from last year, and a tutu.  Amelia Dauer once again is clad in her tutu.  Paul Battle is wearing his 150,000 mile pink jersey, pink socks, and a helmet cover that has pink on it. (For this century, Paul will take the honors that have thus been accorded to Larry Preble this year as the oldest rider on the century).  Steven Sarson has on his pink panties over his riding shorts.  I hear one rider, I think I remember it was Harley Wise, saying how he priced a pink jersey but it was just too expensive.   And there are more riders wearing pink of some kind, getting into the spirit of the day.  Such a crowd that I have trouble taking it all in and certainly don't remember all of it.  Everyone seems to be in a good mood and the air seems to hum with anticipation.  It brings a smile to my face.  There is nothing like the feel of anticipation that seems to hover in the air before a ride and with not knowing what joys and challenges the day might bring. 

 

Paula comes up to me asking if Tom Askew and David Frey can get a helping point for helping her get to the ride.  Evidently her battery went dead along the way and she was on the verge of calling her husband to pick her up.  Teasingly, I tell her no:   the point is only for help on the ride, but I quickly tell her yes after seeing her disappointment.  I am just glad that she got here and a tad worried about how she will get home.  With the late start, she may be fighting darkness on her trip home. 

  

 Prior to the ride, Thomas Nance had texted me that if I see his car and not him, he is riding the Fire Tower to do the Fire Tower Challenge.  Amelia tells me she arrived before he left.  Only two riders have completed the challenge thus far:  Jon Wineland (who does it again today) and Samuel Bland.  I have done both climbs, but not on the same day.  Jon Wineland teased me with the idea during the pre-ride, but I declined.  Thomas is, by the way, successful but he brings back memories of my first, failed attempt to climb the one in Clark Forestry when he says his front wheel kept coming up off the road due to the steepness.  That was my issue the first time I attempted to climb the fire tower hill.  I failed that day but later was successful even making it up on my double as I got stronger.  It also brings back a memory of taking Grasshopper to climb and him looking at me and saying he didn't know you could go so slowly on a bike and still stay upright.  Amelia talks about how she quit climbing it because it caused her knees to hurt and they don't normally hurt and I agree.  It is one hard climb and helmets off to anyone who climbs it and then another challenging hill later the same day.  

  

Joe Bolan from SWI asks about dogs telling me that dogs had bothered him awhile back on a road that is part of the route.  I tell him they didn't bother me on the pre-ride, but we should let people know.  Dominic Wasserzug has brought a bar code people can scan if they want to participate in next years Bike to Beat Cancer and asks that I put it with my sign out sheet.  John Pelligrini has brought a photo of last year that shows John Fong and Tom Hurst and remarks how hard it is to believe that we have lost both of them.   Later, during the pre-ride speech, John Mahorney reminds us of their loss.  It makes me think about how fragile we are and how our days are, indeed, numbered.  I remember Tom telling me during his illness that it was so strange to him because he had never been in such good shape before in his life.  One thing age has taught me is that life is full of loss making it even more important to cherish these days when we feel happy, healthy, and strong and the friends and family that we have that our still with us.  

 

After a short speech urging everyone to have fun, the groups take off and that is the last I will see of most of them except for when I am nearing Medora and they are leaving it.  I am late leaving the parking lot as Dave King forgot gloves.  I loan him my short fingered gloves (not pink) and then Mike Ngong says he left his gloves in the car.  Finally we are off chasing the group.  Mike tells me it is his second century.  What he does not tell me is that he has not ridden a bicycle outside for six or eight weeks (I can't remember for sure which) but has been spinning at the Y.  I tell him that since I don't know how he rides,  he has to tell me if I am going to quickly or slowly for him.   While it is hard to imagine anyone being slower than me anymore, it does occasionally happen, and with centuries, one must absolutely do two things:  pace oneself and eat.  Meanwhile he is trying to find the route on his phone.   Eventually he does and this enables him to move ahead. 

 

We are not too far into the ride when I come upon a group at the side of the road:  Steve Sarson, Brooke Hillenbrand, Larry Preble, and Bob Grable.  Brooke has broken his rear derailleur cable.  Fortunately, Steve Sarson has one; however, as they try to put it on they discover it is too short.  I carry one on the Lysnkey, but not on my Calfee since it has electronic shifting.  Nobody else has one. Much discussion ensues about whether to tie the cable off so he has a couple of gears or to try to tie the old and new cable together.  Bob is carrying wire cutters.  Just as they are trying to tie it off, Jon Wineland arrives saving the day with a cable that is long enough to reach the rear.  Frankly, prior to this I did not know there were different length cables.  Brooke seems to feel badly about holding everyone up, but I am so glad he came out to play.  As Jon Wineland has been known to say, "We have all day."

 

Meanwhile, the jokes fly and the laughter fills the air becoming somewhat bawdy but eliciting loud guffaws from all.  I hate to think what would have happened had I, a woman, not been there with my gentle, restraining presence to tone it down a bit because of course I would never engage in or condone such ribaldry (Okay, I admit I participated a bit. Too many of you know me to lie so blatantly;-)  Anyway, the details of what happens or is said  in Vienna stays in Vienna.   

 

As we leave, Larry asks us to follow his slowly as he wants to use his drone to take some footage.  Unfortunately, the drone ends up crashing into a tree.  He finds it more quickly than I would expect for him to and we are back on the road.   

 

When we arrive at the store stop, everyone is gone.  This doesn't surprise me because our repair stop took awhile.  But what happens next does surprise me because after a quick bite and drink, we begin to head out only to find that Brooke has a flat tire.  It takes little time to fix it, however, and we are on our way. It interests me that he has one of the new, brightly colored tubes.  I am beginning to see them more and more often on rides.  I ask about them and am told they are very light. 

 

By now the dew has worn off the Fox Tail and other weeds which glimmered and beguiled earlier in the ride as if there were a field of diamonds sparkling brightly in the sun.  The slight fog that hugged the earth has lifted.  Most of the trees are still green, but there are hints that fall has arrived and their days are coming to a close.  We pass fields of soy beans and corn some of which have been harvested and many of which have not.  A few fields are being worked, but less than I would expect on such a fine week-end day for many of the farmers here work second jobs as well as farming.   

 

As we near Medora, we see two large groups of riders heading back.  We stop for a photo at the covered bridge and Larry sets his drone to fly through in front of us as we ride through.  Bob mentions getting a tire stuck in one of the cracks in the past and I remember that I normally caution people to walk rather than ride through, but none of us has an issue, maybe as most of us no longer ride on tires only 23 or 25 wide.  

 

There are still oodles of riders at the festival despite the two groups that have eaten and left.  The car show is still there and a few of the cars have been decorated for Halloween.  I chuckle at the car with the huge skeleton climbing on top.  I am surprised at the small crowd at the festival.  Normally there are more people.  Is it because we have arrived a bit later?  I am glad I didn't wear another cape to give away as I did last year because I am not sure who I would have given it to though I did see children pass in the barrel ride.  

 

We eat and prepare to head out when Mike walks up only having just gotten himself a piece of fish to eat.  He seems surprised to see the group ready to leave and refuses our offer to wait.  He puts it in his pack and we take off though I caution him about the need to eat on a century.  

 

When we get to the bridge that I had cautioned the group about because it has a large lip to it that could easily pop a tire, we find the group waiting.  A photo is taken and then Larry again sets his drone to fly ahead of us.  At some point, however, the drone hits the ground due to an accident and I later learn that the photos taken throughout the ride are probably lost as it won't restart. If it does not restart, the photos will be lost as the drone has an internal SIM card.  

 

The group again splits and Mike and I finish together at the back.  He says he is very proud of himself and I feel proud for him and his accomplishment and wonder if he will attempt to complete the TMD next year.  One never knows who will and who will not fall in love with century riding. Centuries are, indeed, an accomplishment.  And those first few centuries where one learns pacing, eating, etc. more so.  Some of the group is still at the end and I grin seeing how many have adopted Dave King's after ride Moomoo dress.  It is then that I learn that Steve Puckett took a tumble, clipping Jon's back wheel.  I am so relieved to find he was not injured. As I dress under a towel for pizza, I think maybe I should join in and purchase a Moomoo.  It would be easier.  A group of seven or eight go out for pizza and  then Medora is officially finished for this year.  And there are new memories to keep me warm when I am lonely or when my century days are complete.  Like fall, they give me mixed feelings: happiness intertwined with melancholy.  Thanks, everyone, for coming out to play.  I hope you formed some memories that you can remember with a smile on your face during the cold winter months and in the future.  Just know that you are treasured and that though I didn't ride with many or even most of you, I am SO glad you were there.  

 

Finishers who signed in are as follows:

 

Joe Bolan        3:33   group of 1 

John Dippold    4:03   group of 9

Harley Wise       4:03    group of 9

Sharon Jeter   4:03   group of 9

Fritz Kopatz  4:03 group of 9

John Killenbrew   4:03  group of 9

Keith Baldwin    4:03  group of 9

Glenn Smith  4:03  group of 9

Dan Barriere    4:03  group of 9

Andrew Dean    4:03   group of 9

Tom Askew     4:06  group of 1

Jeff Schrode       4:30  group of 1

Thomas Nance     4:45    group of 1

John Pelligrini    5:30    group of 1

Mark Rougeux    4:45  group of 1

Larry Preble    5:37     group of 11

Steven Sarson    5:37 group of 11

Jackie Rountree    5:37 group of 11

Zeke Ledford        5:37  group of 11

Brooke Hillenbrand    5:37  group of 11

Bob Grable        5:37 group of 11

Dominic  Wasserzug    5:37 group of 11

Amelia Dauer    5:37 group of 11

Steve Puckett    5:37 group of 11

Paul Battle     5:37 group of 11

Jon Wineland  5:37  group of 11

David Fry    5:37 group of 11

Paula Pierce   5:37  group of 11

David King   5:37   group of 11

Melissa Hall  5:44  group of 2

Mike Ngong   5:44 group of 2    

 

  

 

 

RIde Report: TMD Stage 18: Twice Boston

"Alas, the summer sun can't last 

forever.  The days will grow cooler and

shorter and our skin will once again pale."

Sarah McLean

 

With the promise of ninety degrees or more later in the day, I walk out my door to head for the ride clad only in riding shorts and a short sleeved jersey.  "Will this," I wonder, "be the last ninety degree day?"  There is the mere hint of fall's coolness in the morning air, but it is just that:  a hint and promise of what is not yet here but inevitably will become reality.  Leaving for a ride scantily clad will become less and less likely to be a reality.  And it is dark.  Even for a ride starting at 8:00 a.m. there is a bit of driving in the dark to reach the starting point.  "Where," I ask  myself as I drive, "did the summer run off to?" for it does not seem that enough time has passed for it to end.  I have always read that as you age, time passes more quickly.  Sometimes it does and at other times it drags, but the seasons certainly fly.  Well, all except winter which can seem like it is eternal when it clutches the world with arthritic ridden fingers that will not seem to unclasp and will not allow themselves to be pried apart. 

 

While I leave plenty of time and arrive forty five minutes prior to the ride start, there are others there before me.  Car after car pulls in.  Because there are two rides today, a shorter ride and a TMD century, it is hard to tell  which distance people are riding.   There are smiles on faces and a swirling quilt of brightly colored jerseys weaving in and out as people go about their business of getting ready.  There is the soft, somehow comforting,  murmur of talking and occasional peals of laughter or chortling that bring a smile to my face.  There are the sounds of wheels turning and gears shifting as people make sure everything on their bike is in order and working.   I hear Mike Kamenish tease Jon Wineland who is returning a cooler to me about whether he had brought body parts to the ride for disposal (yes, only Mike) and I think how much I cherish the anticipation that fills the air for it is summer and we are about to explore the world on bicycles.  The day shines with promise. 

 

As it turns out, Paula and Dee have 24 riders show up for their century, a century that was designed by Jon Fong who is not longer with us and is much missed.  I suspect he touches many riders hearts today in thought and prayer and a reminder of how, despite our apparent health and strength,  fragile we are.  Riders are as follows:  Paula Pierce, Steven Sarson, Larry Preble, Tom Askew, David Frey, Bob Evancho, Dee Schreur, Fritz Kopatz, Dominic Wasserzug, Vince Livingston, Jon Wineland, Harley Wise, Bob Grable, David King, Keith Baldwin, Michael Kamenish, Jerry Talley, Glenn Smith, Brad Conrad, Brian Corbett, Todd King, Terrell Brown, and myself. Jackie Roundtree also rode the century, but did not sign in on the century sheet, so I don't know if it was unplanned or what.   I email her and find it was a miscommunication between her and another rider.

 

Paula gives her pre-ride speech.  When she is done,  we dribble out of the parking lot, heading through the busier parts of town to the country where traffic will be much less frequent or heavy.  We pass a park where young people are having football practice and it is nice to see so many families.  I miss those days when my husband was alive and the children were involved in activities that required our attendance.  Glenn Smith and Jon Wineland realize within a mile that they each have forgotten something and turn back.  Glenn had forgotten his backpack and Jon his food that he carries with him.  It is a good thing  Jon remembered as I understand every last bit was consumed prior to the end of the ride.  

 

The pace is quick and I decide that I need to pace myself better and fall back.  Dee falls back shortly afterward and she, Ann Stainback, and I ride together for a short bit.  Ann is quite strong but states that she lags on hills.  I suggest that she work on using her breath as one does in Pilates.  Hills are hard for most of us, though there are some that seem to be built to climb. I giggle to myself when she, after telling me what an inspiration Bernice was to her when she first started riding,  says I am the new Bernice.  I giggle because I remember Claudia telling me, after we climbed Oregon Road on a brevet, that I was amazing because I was her mother's age and her mother could not climb that hill. I giggle also remembering how when I first started riding, Bernice once said something about people "our" age despite the fact  I was around twenty years younger than she.  I know Ann  means it as a compliment and wonders if she realizes how big of a compliment it is.  Bernice was one spectacular woman, riding until she was ninety or so and still riding two days before her death. There will never be anyone like her.  

 

Dee and I talk briefly. Dee is one of the heroines of this ride having had knee surgery and having only completed two fifty mile rides yet honoring the commitment she made to co-captain the century with Paula.  I later learn that she also had to contend with a worn out cleat that kept coming undone from time to time.  Some people are just built tough.  Dee is one of them.   In fact, both of Dee and  Paula are Mad Dog heroes as are some others agreeing to captain a stage despite the fact they have no intention of completing the Mad Dog Challenge this year thus giving back.  It strikes me that there are more females on this stage than on any of the others that I attended:  Paula, Dee, Jackie, and me.  It is something that has grieved me over the years, the lack of females in distance riding, but I have come to accept that it is what it is. 

 

Forgetting my resolve to slow my pace, Glenn and I head out toward Boston. While I keep in mind that this is a difficult course to pace oneself on because of the initial flats, I think I can maintain this pace.  In the end, I decide I may have been better riding in the draft of the group I had been with rather than facing the wind with no pull all those miles, but who knows? I arrive at Boston with an average of over sixteen and later learn the group I had been with was averaging over eighteen. 

 

When we arrive, there is quite a group there and it is difficult to know who is only doing the short ride and who is going long.  I nudge myself to remember to look at the GPS until the route splits so as not to head in the wrong direction.  I stay at the market on a short time, long enough to consume my home-made energy bar and milk, and head out.  Later I learn that Jerry Talley arrived at the market with a broken cable.  (Jerry is another hero from the ride as he completed the century with the cable tied off for his rear derailleur and only two gears and finishes with one of the faster groups). Jon Wineland helps him with the issue and Bob Grable lends a tool.  When I later told Jerry I thought he might turn around, he tells me he wanted to but did not feel he could after Jon had worked so hard fixing his bike.  I also learn that Jerry has only been riding for three years though he is remarkably strong on the bike. Well, Jerry,  had I not heard what happened, I would never have known you completed the course with only two gears.  Well, done, you.

 

Those of you who know Jon Wineland know that  he always appreciates a good road treasure find.  He has hauled tools and objects that have been the subject of jokes and admiration.  Today he happens upon a large brick sized piece of metal in the road.   He does not, however, haul it with him to find a use for later, but is courteous enough to move it out of the road so it does not cause an accident or a flat tire.  He estimated the weight at 10 to 15 pounds.  Shortly after I understand he caught up with Dee, Paula, and Terrell and would end up spending the day with them.  Everyone teased Dee about sandbagging her physical condition as I understand that she consistently surged to the front.  

 

Shortly after Boston, Bob and Larry catch up with me.  I tell them to go ahead, but they insist on staying with me and we ride together until lunch.  We are now on roads I am not very familiar with which is always nice.  But I know that while I am riding okay, I am not feeling great today.  Maybe it is the speed I went out at or maybe the heat or maybe it just is how I feel today. I am not feeling bad, but not my usual self either.  Somehow the topic of age comes up for Larry and I, as usual, are the oldest of our gender on the ride.  Larry jokes that if we were younger, we would have to dance with each other at the prom.  I tell him he is lucky this isn't the case as I am not a good dancer and would likely step on his toes.

 

We talk about lunch and where to eat and end up pulling into McDonald's only to find a large group gathered there. I suppose many of us opted for fast and cheap. Bob says lunch will be cheaper than his store stops.  I sit at the same table as Harley who talks about his weight loss and think how proud  he should be of himself.  I have always thought weight loss is so much harder than giving up smoking.  You can quit and never have another cigarette again.  You can't stop eating.  He and a few others relate the dietary changes they have made not only because of weight but because of health issues and we take a moment to realize how lucky we are, at our ages, to have the health to be here today. Bob Evancho tells of some friends of his who are now having health problems as we talk about how lucky we are to have the health to be here.  Keith talks, though it may have been at a stop rather than lunch, about a 91 year old who is in excellent health but is having cognitive issues and how health can be a blessing and a curse. 

 

The group finishes  and leaves together, but I know I will not be staying with them.   It always amazes me how quickly the group decides to leave and gets ready to do so, as if there were a hive mind. During lunch, we had joked a bit about being Upsalled.  Most of the riders needed an explanation as they never met Mike.  Once on a century long ago, the group gathered up quickly and departed while Mike Upsall was in the bathroom.  For some reason,  he thought the group knew he was in there and still left, so being Upsalled became a term for being left behind.  I still remain in touch with Mike who rides the roads of the west coast now and is happy to be ride of hot weather. A loss for the club but a gain for him. 

 

The group stays together for awhile, but on the first slight climb I drop back. I have ridden enough centuries to have a sense of my pace, particularly with this heat, for the day is getting hotter and the promised clouds have not appeared in sufficient number or strength to offer a cooling shield.  While in Alaska, I lost some of the acclimation to the hot weather, and I find myself draining water bottles more quickly than anticipated.  When we reach the turn for the store stop, I debate just going to the Dollar General that is right there rather than backtracking, but Bob wants to go to the store and so I do.  While there, we pick up Dave King who has dropped back to ride with us.  

 

Not long afterward, we pick up Jackie and Glenn and finish together as a group.  I am looking forward to finishing.  My right thigh is flirting with cramping and will later cramp on the drive home (thank goodness for cruise control).  I am thirsty and about out of water and my feet are longing for regular shoes.  And we arrive.  

 

While some have finished and left, a few are waiting there.  Tom is handing out drinks to people with his normal, friendly smile upon his face as if life is an endless source of amusement.  Steve, who seemed very strong today, explains that an unknown infection that his dentist found and treated, had impeded his riding this summer.  Obviously true as he hammered the course today. 

 

The conversation moves on to Dave King's after ride mu-mu.  And sure enough, once Jackie and he have circled the parking lot a few times, he comes out in his brightly colored mu-mu talking about the breeze he is able to experience in this rather odd article of clothing.  It makes me grin, something Dave often does and for which I have a huge appreciation.   I stay for a short bit, but then head home to shower and collapse on the couch, glad I have ridden but spent.  Surprised and satisfied with my 15.5 average for the day.  Thankful to God for the day and people and the memories I have made.  For our tans will fade and many of these friends I will only see a few more times before the season is over, but I will have the memory of the day, the laughter, the camaraderie of the dogs, the shared toil and sweat and the shared glee of speed and finishing, conquering the course, the heat, and the day.   Shakespeare is right, "Summer doth have too short a lease" despite the heat.  Most of you will never know how I will miss you despite the fact many of  us are not close.  During the cold winter I will long for the sight of your faces and the sound of your voices, for your stories and your laughter.  Come spring, these things will serve as a tonic.  But there are still a few more century rides to go in the tour, including Medora. Well done, Dogs, well done!  

 

Finishers:

 

Todd King         2:05        group of 1

Vince Livingston        2:41        group of 1?

Brad Conrad                2:41       group of 1?

Fritz Kopatz                2:41        group of 1?

Larry Preble                3:07        group of 10

Steven Sarson              3:07        group of 10

Harley Wise                3:07         group of 10

Dominic Wasserzug    3:07         group of 10

 Keith Baldwin            3:07        group of 10

David Frey                   3:07        group of 10

 Jerry Talley                3:07        group of 10

Bob Evancho               3:07         group of 10

Mike Kamenish            3:07        group of 10

Tom Askew                    3:07        group of 10

Glenn Smith                3:20           group of 5

Melissa Hall                3:20            group of 5

David King                   3:20         group of 5

Bob Grable                    3:20     group of 5

Jon Wineland                  4:38        group of 4

Dee Scheur                     4:38        group of 4

Terrell Brown                  4:38     group of 4

Paula Pierce                    4:38 group of 4         

 

 

Hardinsburg: End of Summer and Beginning of Fall 2025

"The past beats inside me

like a second heart."

 John Banville

 

The weather has been unseasonably cool and I have ridden, but it has been awhile since I splurged and took a day and rode the entire day by myself.  I decide on my Hardinsburg Century.  Normally this is a route I ride twice yearly:  once in the spring and once in the fall.  This year I  missed the spring ride.  I have ridden a lot of centuries this year, but not solo.  So I prepare my bike and head out into the morning choosing the Lynskey to be my ride.   It has been and remains such a dependable bike.  And is has seen both use and abuse since I got it in 2011, including one PBP.  

 

It has been so unrelentingly sunny that I am a bit surprised at the cloud cover.  Normally in summer, I carry an emergency poncho if I am not wearing a rain jacket, but not today.  I do, however, start the ride in a light jacket and with a pair of work gloves over my short fingered gloves, something I will later be grateful for.  I settle down into a steady pace soon hitting the first climb up Leota Hill,  a climb I have done hundreds of times.  It is steeper than its sister hill, but not as long.  The leaves are just beginning to hint that fall has been dipping her big toe into the waters of summer and there are leaves scattered along the ground and in the road though not as profusely or as colorfully as they will be in a week or so.  The weather person says we are going back up to or near ninety degrees, but today will be perfect reaching at most the low eighties and with only light winds which can be the curse of otherwise perfect fall riding days.  

 

As I climb,  I pass where the Knobstone Trail crosses the road to the Leota Trailhead.  Soon hiking season will be here.  While I don't long for it as I do sometimes near the end of summer, I do look forward to it.  I normally only hike when it is cold and the ticks are not so thick and the snakes are in bed for the winter.  I have crossed this road hiking with Diana when we did our through hike and other times, with Jon, with Chris, and alone.  I think how I will miss Chris this winter and while I am glad for him and his wife that they followed a dream, I am selfishly sad for myself.  I have been riding and met hikers crossing doing a through hike and encouraged them because I know the climbs that they will face shortly since they are going north.   Hills while hiking can be as demanding as hills when bicycling and just as debilitating and just as rewarding if you conquer them.  

 

After I crest, I eventually pass the house where I heard the story of the dog called Tripod because while he only had three legs, he would chase passing cyclists.  I don't remember who told me the story, but he (and I say he because most of the distance riders I know are male) said Eddie Doer named the dog.  Tripod was gone prior to my traversing the road, but for some reason I remember the story and, of course, I remember Eddie.   I first me Eddie when he was holding training sessions for the OKHT Time Trial all those years ago hoping to improve my cycling but not knowing he would lead me away from triathlons toward distance cycling.  I still hear him telling me to weight my pedal on switchbacks.  So hard to believe he is gone, too young, younger than me.  So many gone, I press harder on the petals attempting to leave ghosts behind for today is not a day I want to be morose and sad but to have fond memories that make me smile. 

 

I leave Eddie behind with Tripod and head on to Blue River and think of a family I used to work with who lived on the road wondering what ever happened to the children.  Abuse had left them where it was unlikely they would ever really be able to be independent.  Perhaps it is best I don't know.  And then I am at Pekin with memories still chasing me, some happy and some sad.  But that is their nature and they way they mold us as we become who we become.  

 

Bill Pustow comes to mind.  He  and I were riding this course one cold winter day.  One of us, and I don't remember which, had a flat tire.  While I don't remember which of us it was, I remember the sinking feeling because, if you have ever changed a tire when it is freezing out, you know how hard tires become and how cold hands can get.  A woman noticed us and allowed us to bring the bike inside into the warmth to change the tire, a living example that kindness does exist in this world, something easy to forget into today's world and political climate.  Sometimes it seems to me that the more we have, the less generous we become.  But perhaps it is my imagination that leads me down that path.  I think of how in the past, I could always get someone to ride a century despite the cold, but those days are behind me, one more thing lost to time.   How glad I am that I did them while I still could. 

 

And that is one reason why I ride today:  because I still can and because I still love it even though at times it depletes me.  How much longer will I be able to do this, take off on my own to dream for an entire day..  How long will my mind and body heed what I ask of it before refusal.  For this is not an easy century.  There is lots of climbing that makes demands on the legs, lungs, heart, and mind.  Again I ask myself if we quit because of our growing bodily weakness or our growing mental weakness.  I have often repeated the words of my friend, Lynn, "When you get older it becomes harder to be mean to yourself."  

 

Leaving the store, I shortly make the turn onto Shorts Corner knowing that this road will hurt.  I remember Steve Rice once describing it as "annoying."  I remember he and I were together when we passed a young kid, much too young to have the tool he had:  a chainsaw.  I would guess he was at most ten or eleven.  Shorts Corner does hurt and also brings to mind when I was designing the Merango Mangler course and Grasshopper was with me.  We were coming the other direction and as we made the big climb going that way, he was obviously in pain.  I don't know if that is when he was riding with his broken neck, but I suspect so.  When we rode together last year, he was on an e-bike but still having neck issues.  Does he, I wonder, remember that day.  How I wished I could help him with his pain, but  unfortunately it was the kind of pain one has to bear alone.  

 

I near Hardinsburg and think how glad I am that they finally paved the swooping downhill that used to be full of pot holes.  When I first put this century together, before RWGPS or other on-line route planners, I intended to have lunch in Hardinsburg only to arrive and find that it was too early yet for lunch and that even if it were not, the only thing there was a dilapidated Dairy Barn, now closed, that looked too nasty to consider eating at.   So I rode onward, unsure of what was ahead and with a sandwich in my bag if needed.

 

As I head to Livonia, construction trucks keep passing me on what is normally a fairly quiet road.  And suddenly I am with Steve Sexton, climbing these hills while the others surge ahead on a winter century.  I don't remember if it was a Christmas Breakfast ride, but I suspect it was as this was often the route I chose for us to ride following the celebration.  I remember feeling weak, the wind was so very strong that year, and how we climbed together.  I feel certain he could have been with the lead group for he was always so strong, he who almost always rode in the big chain ring,  but instead he faced the wind and hills with me. He retired recently and I hoped perhaps he would once again ride with the Mad Dogs, but it has not happened.  Another dream I suppose. 

 

I pass a watermelon field filled with watermelons most of which appear to be rotting.  It seems I always encounter a few fields of watermelons or pumpkins that are grown but never harvested.  I have always wondered why.  Across the road is a field of pumpkins, their orange skin peeking through the green leaves that are still a strong green but beginning to fade. 

 

 

As I near lunch, the sky begins to spit a cold drizzle, and I have to stop for a one lane road.  The woman apologizes and I tease her a bit, but I don't mind having to stop half way up the hill and have a bit of a rest.  This is where the trucks were going to I suppose.  When she lets me pass, the sky opens and I am pelted by a cold, hard rain.  I giggle as  I hear construction workers laughing and talking running for the truck, all of them except the poor flag people who must remain due to traffic. I think that it is somehow uplifting to hear the laughter of young people. I don't want to stop because traffic coming the other direction can't proceed until I get to the end, so I pedal as hard as I can a bit worried about my phone and glad I brought a plastic bag to stick it in "just in case."  Once I come upon the second flag person, I pull over and put it in the bag and the downpour stops shortly after.

 

I pass what used to be the Dutch Barn and see it is becoming a volunteer fire station.  I grin thinking of Dave and how he said he liked the women employees, Amish or Mennonite, because they had "sturdy" legs.  Many the sandwich I ate there piled with ham or turkey and cheese and served on homemade bread.  How sad I was when it close.  But Little Twirl was where I would go before the Dutch Barn existed and is where I return to.  It was also the store stop on my Campbellsburg Century, the first I designed for the club, and I remember that Mike Pitt and Jim Moore were there the first time I put it on, the century designed by exploration and sidewalk chalk as I had no GPS and no real map.  How I miss them both, more than I would ever have imagined.  Jim so sensible and protective.  Mike making me laugh until I almost pee in my riding shorts.  I remember once following a ride waking up laughing and how weirdly wonderful that felt. 

 

I ask the woman working how their fish is.  She answers by telling me it is her husband's favorite menu item so I decide to give it a try.  I sit outside on the picnic bench glad the rain has stopped and wait.  Meanwhile, chilling a bit, I pull the jacket out of my jersey pocket and put it on glad for an additional layer.  She brings my food and I eat, needful of the calories to finish the ride.  The fish is okay.  Nothing to write home to mom about as they say, but not terrible either.  Since it was fried, I wonder if it is better for me than a hamburger?  At least it is hot and the warmth fills my insides as I prepare to finish the century out. 

 

I head out and think how unusual it is to eat and have a flat stretch before the climbs resume.  It so often seems we eat lunch on a ride, throw a leg over our bikes, and then ride up some big ass hill that makes you wish you had just starved.  Of course I have ridden enough distance to know that you must eat.  I know that when I am not hungry on a long ride, it normally means I am in trouble or about to be.  

 

I travel through Campbellsburg remembering the first time I got there on a bike.  It was quite cold out.  It also was the only time I have seen another person on a bike there in all the times I have passed through other than seeing other riders on one of my rides.  It was an old man, dressed in regular clothing a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he rode. smoke, breath in cold air mingling or both.  

 

I reach the top of Cox Ferry Hill, the large hill we climbed on the overnight this year, or I should say I "tried" to climb, in the big ring no less.  This time I am heading down the hill.  I remember the first time I descended the hill and how I startled a deer and it ran alongside the road with me on the descent.  How frightened I was that it would veer and pop in front of me, for the steepness of the hill with rim brakes does not make for easy stopping.  At the bottom I stop to photograph some artwork for the overnight that not one person spotted.  I then notice a large snake has shed his skin and think this would be an ideal place to live if one were a snake. 

 

 Suddenly I am thinking of Paul and how, after the descent, he looked at me with amazement in his eyes saying, "You didn't ride out here by yourself, did you?"   There is nothing here but fields and the occasional house.  Normally I don't see a car on this stretch of road.  I tell him I do and know he does not understand that I feel safer out here than I would walking down a city street.  I remember he liked the view and so do I.  It is wide and open and filled with different colors. 

 

As I progress I pass the house with the scary pit bulls that the lady appeared unable to control.  Either she has moved and taken them, she has gotten rid of them, or they did not hear or see me.  My breath comes easier knowing I won't have to try to evade them or defend myself, particularly after the long climb.  During the climb I think of Scott Kuchenbrod, someone who has not ridden with me for years.  Scott was a great climber and rarely stood.  Scott stood on this hill and I remember thinking that is one way to know for sure that it is a hard climb even if your legs aren't already telling you.  I am proud to find I don't have to switch to Granny this time.  My legs remain strong.  

 

I arrive at Amos's and he is sitting outside with a friend eating his lunch.  I buy my normal Snickers bar form him and also get a Gatorade, not because I really want the Gatorade but because I know he keeps it in just for me and when I bring riders.  When he hears how far I have ridden he laughs saying he couldn't walk if he rode that far.  We talk about the new pavement on the road that passes his store and the man sitting with him says the new pavement is because the county passed a wheel tax.  Regardless, it is nice pavement, not the hated chip and seal being placed on so many roads where I live.

 

I bid them farewell after listening to a conversation about a cow watering station and how big the concrete slab should be for the best performance.  The rest of the ride is largely on one of my favorite roads:  Delaney Park and Eden.   The sun pops out.  Once again I think of Steve Sexton and how he took a fall on this road one day.  None of us ever really figured out why. I think of Larry breaking a spoke on this road once going in the opposite direction.  I pass the entrance to the trail head where Chris, Jon, and I hiked last year and laughed about the man who disappeared on the trails there and how we joked he was a ghost.  He had been behind us, then passed while we were stopped for some reason, and we never passed him again but somewhere along the way there stopped being footprints, as if he had just disappeared.  I notice the wind picking up and am glad I near home though a part of me regrets that the experience is coming to an end. 

 

I arrive home tired but happy and thinking how very lucky I am that I can still do this and that I have so many memories to haunt me.  I know there are many who think of this a whole day doing a century alone on a bike, as torture, but to me it is precious time that I would not spend any other way.  I love even the sadder memories, the memories that involve people I no longer ride with or who no longer ride.  They were friends and I hope they know I cherished them and I miss them.  In the end, are we are , I suppose, our memories come to life because there is no denying that these experiences shape and mold us.   One of my great fears is dementia and losing those memories, but we face what we have to face as best we can.  Maybe that experience will not be one that is on my plate or maybe it will.  Some things you can control, but many you can't.  Even if I don't remember them, however, they will always live inside my heart.   I am thankful for all I have been graced with in this life, however undeserved it might be.  Now, it is time for rest for the mind and body to prepare for another day. "Tomorrow's another day, and I am not afraid, so bring on the rain." (Jo Dee Messina)