Five Bridges Century on a Pleasant Spring Day

"Just living is not enough.  One must

have sunshine, freedom, and a little 

flower."

Hans Christian Anderson

 

Deep within me, despite my age, I still have the desire to ride my bicycle and to explore despite the fact it is harder physically than it once was.  I am fortunate in this, in having this desire, because ironically I also have the desire to sit and rest.  Sloth and the need for activity war within me at times, particularly when a ride or activity will be physically demanding and possibly painful at times.  I know, however,  which brings the most satisfaction. Not always, but often I make the right decision, assuming either one truly is "right."  And perhaps that is because right is the wrong word:  satisfactory, desirable, rational, discerning?  Bless the English language  with all the words and their shades of meaning. 

 

Jon is putting on a century I have only done once before and have only done when the weather was decidedly unpleasant: the Five Bridges Century.  It passes by five covered bridges:  

Mile 26  Busching Covered Bridge, built in 1885 by Tom Hardman, Howe Truss, 176ft, spanning Laughrey Creek, Ripley County, IN

Mile 37.6 Otter Creek Covered Bridge, built in 1884 by Tom Hardman, Howe Truss, 112 feet, spanning...well, Otter Creek, of course! Near Holton, IN

Mile 50.3  Westport Covered Bridge, built in 1880 by Archibald McMichael Kennedy & Sons (Emmett, Charles), Burr Arch, 130 feet, spanning Sand Creek. Decatur County, IN

Mile 65.7  Scipio Covered Bridge, built in 1886 by Smithe Bridge Company, Howe Truss, 146ft, spanning Sand Creek, Jennings County, IN

Mile 87.2  James Covered Bridge, built in 1887 by Daniel Baron, Howe Truss, 124ft, spanning Graham Creek, Jennings County, IN  (Names and information on bridges copies from Jon Wineland post). 

 

Today there is to be at least some sun and warmth, though the prediction, which never comes to pass, is for increasing cloudiness.  The wind prediction does give me pause, but this is apparently going to be one of those  years where you ride in wind or you don't ride.  It will be a head wind most of the return, but I have already told Jon I don't intend to ride fast and he says he is okay with that. I often have a hard time accepting someone's word when they say this, but on this occasion I will since he knows me well enough to know my pace and could have just not asked. I originally had suggested a shorter ride, but then he tempted me with this century and I acquiesced shoving any doubts firmly down.    

 

My right knee has been bothering me.  It is not painful, but it makes me know it is there and whispers to me that if I abuse it, it will become painful.   But while there is lots of climbing on this route, there are no exceptionally long or steep climbs and I am taking my new bike which has easier gearing than the Lynskey.  

 

We meet at the hospital unsure if any other riders will join us.  They don't.  We are fine with that knowing that while we would have enjoyed the company of others, our friendship will be enough to see us through the day.  And we have not spent much time together recently so we do have things to catch up on.  What books are we reading?  What travel plans are in our future? And so on and so on. 

 

Sadly, the redbuds are gone, but there are still dogwoods at places along the route.  We see wild blue phlox, grape hyacinth, and other flowers that are lovely but which I can't identify dancing alongside the road.  In places the fields that farmers have not sprayed or plowed are thick with butter-weed, their yellow so beautiful and cheerful as if they are applauding the sun.  It is hell on allergies, but oh so very lovely.  The purple Dead-nettle and Henbit are mostly gone. Occasionally we see iris beginning to bloom.  Some fields are browned from being sprayed, and while we will pass some fields where farmers are working, we somehow elude being nearby while they are spraying, something we are both grateful for.  At one point we pull off to allow a tractor to pass.  We are playing.  He is working.  

 

As we climb a hill, we both view what we at first think is a wild turkey, but it turns out to be a stump and we both laugh at how our eyes can trick us.  We later do startle a turkey who takes off, awkward in his flight due to the size of his body but sufficiently upset at our passage to actually fly.  Jon tells me an interesting fact about Pterodactyls and how they would not be able to fly today as the air is different than it was then.  Sometime during the morning, as we descend a hill, a car is stopped in the wrong lane.  As I approach, the car door opens and a young lady goes running down the hill.  There is something lying in the road she is obviously going after and I wonder if a child threw out a toy.  I then see it is a box turtle.  She parked in the lane so nobody would run over it and gently moves it to the side of the road.  It is a good way to start the day, watching this act of kindness in a world which seems to be constantly reminding us is not kind.  

 

As we near the first store stop, we decide to skip the first bridge as we both have seen it many times both during rides and when we hike.  It also will avoid one of the steeper, longer climbs and cut about a mile off the 107 mile course.  We stop at a coffee shop before heading onward.  At the first bridge we stop at, I find a large hunting knife as we walk up to the bridge.  It is too large to fit in my front bag.  Jon helps secure it in my rear bag though it sticks out a few inches.  He later finds a cord along the road and we tie the zippers together so that they won't loosen and I will not lose anything.  Jon finds a nickle at the same bridge and chuckles saying how it pays to ride.  I tell him I think it would be interesting to keep track of everything that we have found and taken home on rides.  Earlier this week I found garden clippers on a ride. He agrees that it would be. 

 

While I don't photograph them all, we stop at each covered bridge and even at a bridge that is not covered but is old reading graffiti.  One still has Christmas lights hanging and I think how beautiful it must be at night during December.  Jon reminds me it would require riding at night to witness it.  And of course, I used to ride at night a lot but haven't since I quit working and quit doing brevets.  A part of me misses it as it is so different from daytime riding, but it is unlikely that I will ride very often at night anymore.  Not impossible, just unlikely. 

 

At lunch we sit outside on a bench and enjoy our sandwiches.  At the third store stop, the manager of the store comes out and tells us we are crazy when he hears how far we are riding and then asks if there aren't normally more of us.  Jon reminds me that the last time we did this ride, we heard the same words, just from a different person and reminds me that she rolled down the window as she left the store cautioning us to be careful. And perhaps they are right:  maybe those of us who ride distance aren't quite right, but we are pretty harmless in our addiction. The stop is welcome as the wind is wearying, but we move on and finish it out.  Near the end Jon runs into a friend from the Madison Bicycle Club whose wife is trying a borrowed ebike.  She quits at their home but he rides with us to the hospital where we end but he continues.  I tease Jon telling Doug that I have had to put up with him all day and it is now his turn to do so. 

 

  

 It has been an altogether pleasant if long day saturated with sunshine and friendship and flowers and a little freedom.  By the time we end, my feet and hands and body are ready for it to end even if my mind is not.  I remain thankful for bicycles, sunshine, flowers, the health to ride, and friendship.  I am blessed.  

 

 

 

TMD 2026: Tour de Hanover

"Each mistake teaches you

something new about yourself. 

There is no failure, remember, 

except in no longer trying.  It is 

the courage to continue that counts."

Chris Bradford   

 

Whether or not to ride this century, for me the first century of the year, was a challenging decision, and one I may have made differently if the weather had been worse.  I can't remember ever being less prepared to ride a century.  Yes, I have stayed active through the winter.  I eschewed Zwift but did do some spin classes.  I hiked and I walked and I swam and I lifted weights.  But I have not ridden outside much at all:  my longest ride was only 38 miles and that was two weeks ago.  I missed the two good days for riding last week visiting my son and his family.   To ride could definitely turn out to be a mistake, and a painful one at that.  (at least if any choice to ride could be considered a mistake)  If asked, I would advise others to wait until they had completed a least a 60 mile ride before attempting the century distance.  But there is no fool like an old fool I suppose. Experience should teach us to know better, but some of us never learn. 

 

Before committing, I do email Thomas to see if he minds if I leave a bit early so as not to hold him up.  It won't be much of a head start because the ride is the first day of day lights savings and the start time is sun up.  But it will be a bit of a start.  Thomas replies that he is just glad I am riding and I hope that he is being truthful.  And so, with the temperature prediction of forties to sixties with wind less that  10 miles per hour, I commit knowing that I can always turn around at the first store stop if I find I have bitten off more than I can chew.  Yes, it could be a mistake, but it certainly would not be the first one I have made in my lifetime. 

 

The day before I ready my bike, checking the bike bag for spares and tools and adding a gel or two, something I rarely use but carry in case of a bonk.  It is not that gels don't help, but I normally struggle to sleep the night after a century and adding caffeine from a gel does not help with the sleeping though it does with the riding.   Before I leave to the start, I throw in a warmer jersey just in case.  I will  later be so glad that I did for the ride start is colder than I expect. I have found that with season changes, with both hiking and biking, I have to re-learn how to dress. Normally I tend to go too warm, but that will not be the case today. 

 

After signing in, Bob Grable, Steve Rice, and I head out about fifteen minutes before the official start time and I thoroughly expect all the riders to catch us by the first store stop.  As mentioned, I added an extra layer for it is still quite chilly and the sun is not supposed to pop out until mid-afternoon.  But it is so nice to be on the bike again, at least for now.  

 

My mind has yearned for the bike and the open roads and what awaits there.  I have missed the conversation and fellowship and just the quiet calm of riding side by side with a friend who will share what happens and who may dream the same dreams tonight.  A friend who understands how tired a ride can make a person and how challenging even short climbs can be if they have a bit of depth to them, particularly this early in the season.  Cobb Hill comes up in the conversation, a hill I have only mastered one side of and have miserably failed at climbing on the other.  Steve Rice says he has never mastered the other side either and I laugh bringing up the memory of Chris Quirey telling me how the hill was so steep that when he was forced to dismount, he began sliding down the hill on his cleats.  Steve Rice talks of the first time he encountered the hill and had a similar experience while sporting Look cleats.  He ended up taking off his shoes so he could walk up the hill and someone drove by, rolled down the car window, said not a word, but shook his head at him.  His story reminds me of how much I miss stories from others during the solitary winter months.  It brings back other memories, for that brevet was the one where the driver stopped and pulled a gun on Steve.  So long ago.  

 

I don't remember how Cobb Hill came up because I know this is not an extremely hilly course, still I am surprised when my Wahoo tells me there are only seven climbs for the day. I blithely and naively believe it.  Later, near the first store stop, it will tell me I have finished riding.  I have to re-load the course to find there are 19 climbs for the day.   The new Wahoo occasionally does this and it is quite annoying.  It  has been over a year ago they said they were working on a fix for the issue.  Obviously, they have not been successful.  But I will continue to use the Wahoo until it gives out I suppose.  I do love its simplicity even while missing Garmin's map which gives street names. 

 

I also made the switch to a Fit Bit Versa 4 over the winter from an old fashioned Timex Ironman watch.  But I have found that it is virtually useless on hikes and bike rides.  On hikes it is wildly inaccurate and on bike rides it switches off if you happen to pause at a stop sign, etc. Like anything new, I am sure there are things I don't know about it, but I can't say that I am yet sure it was worth forsaking my old Ironman watch for.   

 

We spend the first of the ride in conversation, something that will become more rare as the hours and miles pass.  When it is full light, I begin to notice the first of the daffodils in places.  How welcome they are dressed in their bright shades of yellow which only emphasizes the green of their leaves.  My eyes have been winter starved for color.  Fields remain brown and barren and dull showing no promise of future fruitfulness, trees remain naked and stark, but daffodils promise that this will change.   I am always so thankful when God decides to grant me another spring and the strength to watch it from the seat of a bicycle.  I send up a silent prayer of thankfulness. 

 

The worms, however, are something I am never grateful for while riding and bring back memories of brevets. The wet weather has drawn them out onto the road and there is no way to avoid them.  They splatter my bike and my clothing and my wheels and even my water bottles.  It makes me wonder how many earth worms I have unwittingly eaten during rides where they splatter everywhere including my water bottles.  On walks,  I often pick them up as the day warms and place them back where they can go to ground rather than die on the pavement, but on a bike I just become a worm murderess, however unwittingly.  

 

We are not too far down the road when an individual rider passes us as if we were standing still.  I don't recognize him as I don't recognize many of the riders here today.  I know better than to follow my instinct to give chase:  if I am to finish I must ride conservatively.  About ten to fifteen minutes after, another group passes.  Jon says hello as they pass.   We will not see them again until the first store stop in New Washington.  

 

We reach the store stop and  I grab a quick drink to have with my homemade oatmeal bar.  It tastes unusually good today.  But we only pause and are ready to pull out when Thomas Nance and the group he is with arrive.  Needless to say, fool that I am I decide to head on rather than to turn around and make it a 60 miler instead of 101.  Steve and Bob begin to pick up the pace.  I stay with them for a bit, but then decide it is too swift for me.  I have not shed the expected layer at the stop, and I am glad I have not. Jon stays with me and we don't see them again until lunch.  I am grateful for his company and he teases me when I worry about finishing telling me I will be singing before we are through.  And indeed, I do sing a bit later, when the sun pops out, and he teases me about that as well.   I try to remember to drink.  

 

At my age I am already at risk of stroke, and dehydration ups that risk for anyone.   After Lloyd's stroke and seeing that of others, particularly my aunt who lay for a year or longer unable to talk or move,  I am fearful of being left so helpless whereas I was not when I was younger.  Perhaps, as is often said, ignorance is bliss, at least in some areas.  Or is it youth thinking that things could never happen to them, only to others. Maybe even getting old is that way.  We think it will not happen to us.  Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and wonder how I ever got this old.  And why.  Why me and not somebody else?  I remember my mother, who outlasted all her siblings and many of her friends by a number of years, telling me that it is not always a gift to be the last one left.  But then, who really wants to die unless they are in pain or the throes of depression?

 

Jon and I eat at McDonalds.  As always, I remain amazed at how popular it is because the food just is not very good and it is not cheap.  The woman taking my order looks years older than me, weary and beaten down by life.  I think how fortunate I am that I was able to retire and not have to continue going to work when age had gripped me tightly.  Bob comes in asking if we are about ready to leave.  We are and head out together though I have told him to go on.  He needs to get back and I have, as Jon often says, all day.  There is a comfort in knowing that if I do fall back, Thomas and the rest of the group are still back there and will sweep me up.  But my fear of being the chubby anchor never materializes. The four of us will finish the ride together.   The sun begins to come out and while I initially wondered if taking off a layer at lunch was wise, in only a few miles I am glad for disrobing. A few minutes of misery in exchange for future comfort.  A lesson cycling teaches us if we ride for long. 

 

The third store stop is absolutely disgusting outside with bird droppings on the chairs and tables and scraps of food (at least I hope that is what they were) just set outside.  The sad part is it could be a lovely stop with the outside area and the tables.  But it would take soap, water, and elbow grease.  We don't linger overly long before striking back out.   

 

When we cross 62, my legs and I are ready to be done, particularly when there is anything that even remotely resembles a hill.  They are not failing me yet, but they are consistently grumbling about the demands I am placing on them.  I think  briefly of how one day, if I continue to challenge myself, or even if I don't,  they will sputter and give out and fail to respond when I ask them to;  will I consider that a mistake in judgement or will I be glad that I still made the attempt?  Was Dylan Thomas right, should we "not go gentle into that good night?"  I suppose I will not know the answer to that question  until it  happens.  I just  hope that I have the strength of mind to continue to challenge myself, to have the courage to plunge onward without letting fear of failure hold me captive.  I have failed at so many things, I should be a pro.  But I also have had my share of successes.  One builds on the other perhaps. .   I think when it happens I will just feel truly old and sad.   I hope I also feel that it was not a mistake to continue for as long as this body I was blessed with allows me to. 

 

I know from doing this course  previously,  this stretch after crossing 62  always seems as long as the entire century:  the car seems an eternity away.   But eventually we arrive.  I sign in and go home.  We are about an hour behind the first rider and about a half hour behind the second group and there is still a group out.  Somehow, I survived and never had to call my daughter to rescue me.  So I smile as I get in my car and head home to rest and prepare for the coming riding season, mentally and physically.  It is good to be back in the saddle, but I am ready to put the bike away until tomorrow.  

A Riding Week in February

"I used to try to decide which was the 

worst month of the year. In the winter

I would choose February. I had it figured

out that the reason God made February short

a few days was because he knew that by 

the time people came to the end of it they

would die if they had to stand one more

blasted day."  

Katherine Paterson

 

Our unusual cold, snowy spell has been followed by an unusual warm spell.  It has not quite dispelled the snow that still daintily laces the shady places, defiantly white,  where the sun cannot reach.  It is definitely ebbing, clenched fists slowly and reluctantly relinquishing dull brown ground.  There is a bareness there that will be unrecognizable once spring weaves her magic.   I wish I knew for sure that winter was done for this year, but I have heard predictions that winter will defiantly reclaim the land toward the end of the month.  I hope they are wrong but it would be quite off for winter to let us off so easily in early February.  I have had quite enough of the snow shovel this year and have vowed that by next winter, I will have a snow blower.  The weather has always swung wildly, but more so now than ever in memory.  Then I grin to myself thinking that in a few months I will be cursing the heat.  Dissatisfaction, part of the human condition.  

 

 

 I feel fortunate that I have been able to get out on the bike during the past week for a few rides, including today.  But today is dreary and it is still cold with the sun shielding his warmth from not just my body, but my soul.  I mind the cold more than I used to, and I mind the wind even more.  Age, it seems, has weakened not only my determination, but my tolerance for those things that increase the difficulty of a ride though I still do not mind hills even while I curse them.  There is something about the use of my legs and my breath that reminds me I am alive and still strong, relatively speaking.  It is not the strength of younger years, but it is still strength, and I rejoice in it. 

 

  I used to enjoy the challenge of wind and extreme cold, but not so much any more. Perhaps it is because my winter rides have become almost exclusively exercises in solitude.   Those that used to face these roads with me throughout the depths of winter no longer do.  Some have quit riding and some have yielded to Zwift.  And those that do ride are so much younger and stronger that I would be a burden.  Or perhaps it is just because of the passage of time......when there is no longer change, when we no longer change, we are dead.  February has been hard regardless since Lloyd passed as it held both Valentine's Day and our anniversary.  

 

But I can say I have enjoyed the short rides this week, most of them in the twenty mile range or a bit more.   Despite the cold, the wind has not been too demanding, and it just feels good to be outside and for the road to be passing underneath my wheels.  As I climbed Leota Hill earlier this week, I swore to myself that it has gotten slightly steeper and longer over the winter.  My breath was ragged and gasping, my speed a mere crawl, but still I ascended.  When asked, my legs did not fail me.  I worried about cinders causing my tire to flat or to spin out, but thus far it has not happened.  I truly detest changing a tire when my fingers are freezing cold.  I briefly wondered how the finger I have to manually straighten in the mornings anymore would react to the demand and I am glad I don't find out. 

 

On Saylor, I stopped briefly when I saw ice blocks. I have seen ice fishing before in this area, but never the blocks.  They gleamed in the sunshine of the day.   They were in front of an Amish house so, while my first thought was an igloo, I realized it is probably for their ice house since the Amish do not use electricity and thus do not have refrigerators.  It made me think of my mother and how she told me the children would run behind the ice truck in the summer hoping that the ice man would be kind enough to chip a free piece of ice for them to stick in their cotton dry summer mouths.  How spoiled we have become.  All my childhood we had a refrigerator, and all my childhood my mother continued to call it the icebox.  Sometimes I wonder if the progress has actually made us less satisfied with our lives, perhaps because it yields us time we would not otherwise have.   I miss my mother:  the sound of her voice, the sound of her laughter, the way she would call my name,  the gentleness of her touch, the very smell of her.   These, I thought, are the important things in life, but too often we do not cherish them  enough only realizing their importance and their rareness when they are gone. 

 

 

I wish I had been a better daughter, closer to what she wanted me to be.  Did she ever understand my love of the bicycle?  How I cried when we left our home to live in England for year and they sold my sister's bike, the bike I had inherited and learned to ride on. I know she later came to hate my cycling, but time has made me realize how interlaced that hatred was with fear for my safety.  And how could she have understood, she who was raised in poverty and never owned a bicycle.  Our personalities and likes so different, and yet I swear we were cut from the same cloth.  Sometimes I see her in myself.   At one time it would have made me turn away, but now I embrace it.  Yes, I miss my mother and the others I have loved that have died.  

 

My thoughts were interrupted by two deer that stand, uncertain, timidly gazing at me from the middle of the road.  They decided there is safety in flight, and they gracefully bound and melt into the forest, survivors of another hunting season.  I noticed squirrels scampering and one that did not scamper quickly from an automobile demanding passage thus paying the ultimate price.  I assume they are hungrier than normal because of the snow making dinner harder to come by.  But I do not know.  I hate thinking that I will die with so much left that I do not know or understand or have never seen.  

 

All these are thoughts I have as I wind my way down roads that are so familiar I could almost ride them blindfolded.   Each day I head a different direction, sometimes still finding my way impeded by ice patches where the trees have shielded the snow from the sun. Nowadays, I change course.  It is just good to be outside, on a bicycle, and to know that it looks as if God will probably grant me another spring, another chance to watch the earth give birth and paint the roadsides with color and new life.  Would I chose February as the worst month?  I don't know.  In February Christmas with its sparkle has passed and the winter seems to drag on as if it will never end.  And we no longer go to Hell Week so there is not that to look forward to.  Would we, I wonder, appreciate spring as much if there were no February? 

 

 

TMD 2025

"When eating fruit, remember

the one who planted the tree."

Vietnamese Proverb

 

It seems only right on this, the conclusion of the twentieth year of the Tour de Mad Dog, to pay  homage to the creator of the tour: Tim Chilton.  Thank you, Tim. While Tim no longer rides with the LBC and the tour has changed to the point where it is nothing like the original, still it survives.  I suppose that to survive, it  had to do what all of us do to survive:  be amenable to change.  As Kahil Gibran once said, "For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday."  So, Tim, I hope that somehow you know that your creation lives on, however different it may have become,  and that those who completed the tour now and in the past owe you a debt of gratitude.  For to complete the tour means something.  If it didn't, people would not include it in their obituaries, as at least two of our past riders have done.  It is not something that changes the world in any way, but perhaps it changes something in ourselves. 

 

While it seems rather immodest because it includes myself, I would be remiss not to bring up that there are three of us who have completed the tour all twenty years since it's inception:  Mike Kamenish, Dave King, and myself.  Thanks for the competition gentlemen.  There were many times it got me out the door when I was reluctant to ride.    

 

The tour is, perhaps, more than just a series of bike rides.  It is a chance to test yourself and your resolve, for to ride 10 centuries in a season is no mean feat.  And the majority of you rode more than the required ten. It means facing hills that make your legs cry and wind that slaps you around.  It means standing up to  sun that scorches you and threatens to drain you dry of all bodily fluids and rain that often chills you to the bone even on the hottest of days.  It means going on at times when your mind is screaming at you to stop and your muscles ache and beg for rest and your butt hurts.  It means giving up sleeping in on Saturday mornings and a leisurely breakfast and instead rolling out onto strange roads where you don't know what might meet you around the next bend. It means paying attention to your eating and your hydration and to the bicycle that carries you.  It means commitment to planning and executing a goal.  In the end,  it means mastering not only the course, but mastering yourself. 

 

Of course, and maybe most importantly,  it also means fun.  There is nothing like being free to spend the day with friends on a bicycle. For the tour brings with it  a chance to make friends, friends that encourage you or challenge you to be stronger and better than you ever thought you could be, to endure and to finish even when you are tired or feeling poorly, to give those bad times the finger, move on and finish.  It means being with people who share your passion and who can give you advice and make you laugh until your sides hurt and you find the smile you thought you had lost somewhere along the way.   Honestly, most of these friendships will fade if you stop riding, but they will give you memories to hold onto when the world just seems too cold and scary to face it alone. And it is a chance to learn things about yourself, that you are tougher than you thought, that you have what it takes to finish.  

 

This tour has been especially meaningful for me because it is the first time I have had the privilege to  be one of the Tour Directors.  I am so thankful to Fritz for sharing that position with me and for the many contributions he has made to make the year a success.  And of course I am thankful for the people who stepped up to captain.  The tour could not happen without you.  Jon Wineland, Thomas Nance, Bob Grable, Mike Kamenish, Larry Preble, Amelia Dauer, Susan Pyron, John Pyron, John Pelligrino, Bekki Livingston,  Tom Askew, Christian Juckett, Dee Schreur, and Paula Pierce, we owe you a debt of gratitude for stepping up to the plate.    Some of you had to make other arrangements due to circumstances beyond your control, but the fact that you volunteered meant a lot. What is most amazing to me is that some of you did it despite having no intention of completing the tour.  Thank you! And special thanks to Dave King as well who organized the time trial.   

 

This years tour had 22 stages and one time trial.  There were no cancellations, though I know there were some ride captains that had to make very tough calls a couple of times.  That is one of the difficult things about captaining.  You don't want to take people out in weather that is dangerous, but you don't want to cancel and find that there was no need.  I remind anyone that is critical of our captains that they are often in a lose/lose situation.  If they cancel some are upset and if they don't others are upset.  It ranks right up there with the, "Does this dress make me look fat?" question.  You can't win no matter your answer.  So please, be gentle with our ride captains and remember it is not a paid position.  

 

This year also saw the return of the traditional  overnight back to back centuries though it was a new course and a new destination rather than the traditional trek to Mammoth Cave.  It had quite the turn out and while it turned out to be one tough week-end with the heat and endless hills, it was a ride those who completed will, I dare say, always remember because of the terrible heat and the difficulty of the courses.   Those rides, the rides that challenge us, are the ones we tend to remember because they show us what it means to endure and conquer.   I hope everyone felt the same sense of pride upon finishing that I did because I know it was a struggle.  Would I do it again.....heck yeah.  So glad I didn't miss the adventure and the challenge.

 

We also saw a couple of old centuries dragged out of the closet:  Pottershop and Buckner Riverdance.  If you captain next year, please remember there is a list and GPS files for many of the centuries that have been done as tour stages in the past on the club web site.  A few riders had not met Pottershop before and now know what the fuss was all about.  I can't mention Pottershop without mentioning Stewart Prather, now at rest.  Stewart was, if I remember correctly, the one who first found Pottershop and introduced it to the club.   

 

This year also saw a new point system.  I will be suggesting a few changes to Fritz that I think will make it more fair, but it will, of course, be up to him.  It also is the first year where winners are unable to win for another three years.  This change was based upon survey results and was what the majority wanted.  Congratulations to Larry Preble who soundly spanked everyone in the competition. 

 

This year there were 19 finishers and roughly 70 club members who completed at least one stage.  There were participating riders from Southern Indiana Wheelmen, Madison Bicycle Club, Major Taylor Bicycle Club and Ridenfaden (some riders were joint members of clubs) who joined us as well as others that had no club affiliation or whose club affiliation I don't know about.  The oldest  person riding one of the stages was Paul Battle and the youngest was Zeke Ledford (still in high school I believe).  Finishers were as follows:  

Tom Askew        13 stages

Keith Baldwin        12 stages

John Dippold            12 stages

Bob Evancho            12 stages

David Frey        11 stages

Bob Grable        17 stages

Melissa Hall        18 stages

Sharon Jeter         10 stages

Michael Kammenish        13 stages

David King         13 stages

Fritz Kopatz        18 stages

Larry Preble        20 stages

Steven Sarson        10 stages

Glenn Smith        16 stages

Jerry Tally        14 stages

Dominic Wasserzug        10 stages

Jon Wineland        18 stages

Harley Wise        14 stages

 

Thomas Nance     12 stages 

 

Congratulations to each and every one of you on being a finisher.  And thank you for making it such a special year to be one of the Directors.  It was truly an honor and a pleasure.   Hope to see you in 2026.  

 

To the finishers:  Please be on the look out in the near future for the order  form for your award jersey. The more quickly everyone responds, the more quickly the order can be placed.   

 

Also, please consider captaining a ride.  The tour can't happen without ride captains and some riders had to captain two or more stages last year.  To ride captain, you need to sweep the ride and check the course ahead of time for any issues.  But.....if everyone takes a turn it is not so hard to stay in the back for one ride.  Plus, as noted earlier, there are established routes available on the LBC web site if you don't want to create your own.  It is always good to give back. Fritz will be sending out the schedule in the near future.   

 

Lastly, if you are interested in the tour, please remember to request membership in the TMD Google group.  When you make your request, please include your name, club membership status  (you don't have to be a club member but it helps with SPAM requests), whether you know a club member, or whether you are a member of another club.   Requests can be made at either tourdemaddog@louisvillebicycleclub.com or tour-de-mad-dog@googlegroups.com

 

 

 

 

 

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