Bethlehem in July

"This is the power of gathering: it

inspires us, delightfully, to be more 

hopeful, more joyful, more thoughtful:

in a word, more alive." 

Alice Waters

 

 This weeks century is Bethlehem, a century generously infused with memories of countless trips with countless groups of people.  I remember how much trouble I had finding a way to punch through from Bethlehem to Hanover without encountering gravel, how I tried and failed to find a route that bordered the river, how I went into the old, closed nuclear plant that never was and became frightened being by myself after my imagination took hold and filled the empty, eerie spaces with villains.  I remember the Christmas rides, always held the first week-end in December, when we would do the route to mail our Christmas cards in Bethlehem so the postmark would read Bethlehem and they would be specially stamped.  This was the last century I had that Jim Whaley came to before his passing, and I send up a prayer hoping that he is well and putting all the hills in heaven to shame.

Now the post office is closed down.  Many of the people who rode no longer ride or are missing.  If there is one lesson that nobody can evade in this life, it is that change is constant.   No use fighting it.  Roll with it and move on.  

I am not sure how many to expect.  It is one of my easier routes and the weather is predicted to be low eighties, a sheer treat this time of year.  But there is no longer a Tour de Mad Dog and crowds at rides are smaller.  I prepare for possibly twenty and begin to worry that I will not have sufficient cue sheets as more and more roll in, but I have more than enough.  The final count is 13 with a 14th, Jon Wineland,  joining us along the route after having run in the Madison Firecracker 10K.  Some of them have ridden earlier centuries with me this year (Tom Hurst, Larry Preble, Dave King, Thomas  Nance, and Tom Askew:  some have not (Mike Crawford, Amelia Dauer, Fritz Kopatz, Tony Nall, Paul Battle, Frank Hulsman, and Dee Schreur).  

The only person I am not familiar with is Frank Hulsman, and he tells me it is his first century.  It has been awhile since I have captained a first time century rider, and I am glad he has joined us.  There is something quite special when someone rides their first century.  It has always interested me.  For some, it is a "one and done" experience.  It was a goal, they complete, they have no interest in repeating it.  For others, they fall in love with the experience and repeat it time and time again.  I suppose that is one of the best things there is about cycling......there is a niche for almost everyone and they are all good.  As for my first century, nobody shepherded me.  It was the My Old Kentucky Home Tour time trial.  I shake my head remembering Eddie Doerr, the man who suggested that I ride it, another that I have not seen for years and years.

We roll out into the cool of the morning.  Despite not driving the course, something I am just not doing this year, I am not at all concerned about this part of the route as I rode it earlier this week.  I know there are no bridges out and no road closures.  I grin thinking of Tom Hurst telling me this morning that he brought his cleat covers today as every other ride seems to have had an obstacle and he did not have his covers with him.  Perhaps it is like washing your bike:  there is no better way to ensure that you will get rained on during a ride than to wash your bike ahead of time.  By being prepared, he has doomed us to a ride with no unusual obstacles;-)

Because it is a larger group, I have no illusions about this group being cohesive and staying together.  There are enough people that faster people can pair with others who ride fast and slower people can ride at the back with me.  I have found that I have enjoyed this year and the slower paces. I do worry when I learn that Paul has forgotten his GPS in case he gets ahead of me and I worry if I programmed the detour around the gravel correctly.  Neither is a huge issue though I do learn later that while half of the group found the detour, there was a small group that navigated the gravel.  

Despite the different paces, there is not enough speed disparity that we don't regroup at store stops.  At each stop, people regroup.  Along the way I notice as I did earlier this week that the sweet clover is blooming and the Black-eyed Susan's are on full display screaming, "Notice me. Admire me for I am beautiful."  The orange day lilies are mostly gone, but there is still color in the world.  And it is still green, green and lush.  Corn and soy beans line the road in places.  It makes me feel as if somehow I misplaced June.  I spend a moment grieving my inability to slow time, to soak up every moment, every sight, to remember every joke, to clutch the sound of everyone's individual voice and laughter so as to bring it up at will.  But alas, my brain is much too small and insignificant.  Tears fill my eyes for a moment at the beauty of it all, the beauty of the people, the beauty of the landscape, the beauty of the bicycles and jerseys, and the beauty of being healthy and alive on a fine July day.  But I realize that this is not a ride to sink inward in the way that I can do at times.  There are too many people and I have responsibilities.  

 

 The ride ends with Frank successfully completing his first century to the sound of the others who kindly waited at the end, clapping and congratulating him.  His bravery is inspiring as I know the hills at the end hurt him, but he did not complain and kept the wheels turning.  The only issue the entire ride is Larry breaks a shifter cable.  Luckily, I carry an extra cable and Dave King is kind enough to help with the repair so it becomes a non-issue.  The group has inspired,  helped, and been grateful.  A good day and a good ride.  Different than others, but that is only to be expected.  Any day on the bike where everyone successfully finishes and nobody has a major accident or mechanical, well I suppose that is a good day.  We are blessed. And we are alive.