Old Gilgal

 "There are very few monsters

that  merit the fear we have of them."

Andre Gide

I would not be honest if I did not say I rather fear this century because of the climbing.  I  have ridden centuries in the past with more climbing, but not for awhile.  Okay, last summer, but that is still awhile.  Plus I am not as willing to hurt as I once was.  Recovery from a hard effort takes longer.  And I am carrying a bit of winter weight that stubbornly has refused to recede this summer, mostly due to diet and just not moving as much.  Regardless of the reason, extra weight means more to lug up a climb, more demands on muscles and sinews and lungs.  Rather strangely, however,  I also look forward to the ride and the challenge if that makes any sense.  Recently as I look and see everyone's goals, I feel rather aimless having none of my own.  Should, I question myself, be training for something?

I don't expect many at the ride.  While I did not ride it the last (only) time it was offered  (I can't remember why), I heard attendance was extremely small.  To my surprise,  lots of people show up.  Indeed, I suspect it has the largest or nearly the largest attendance of any tour stage this year thus far.  Over twenty. 

I enjoy the chatter and seeing both faces I am familiar with and those I am not so familiar with, but I am overjoyed when another female, Dee Shroer, shows.  Prior to her showing, I think that I might not only be among the very oldest of the group, but the only female.  Being the only female is not really unusual on distance rides, but at times is trying, particularly since it has become more difficult to keep up.  I ask Fritz Kopatz,  the ride captain if he would like for me to leave early suspecting I will be at or near the back and knowing how strong a rider he has become, but he says no so long  as I am not riding ten miles per hour.  So I wait.

We take off only to be stopped by a train.  It seems to take forever to pass and brings back memories of being almost done with a longer Kentucky brevet only to find a stopped train blocking the return.  Grasshopper was riding with me that year.  I don't remember for certain, but is seems there were one or two others. Perhaps Claudia?  Was this the time she told me I was older than her mother but her mother could not climb Oregon Road? ;-) Darkness surrounded us, blinding us in what was an already unfamiliar place.

 

Cars backed up for quite some distance and the rumor began to circulate that the train was broken and would not be moving.  After waiting a half hour and seeing no sign of movement or railroad employees, we found a work around.  I remember being very tired, and the disappointment at the delay in being able to finish causing me to tear up.  To this day, had I been alone, I swear I would have thrust my bike through and climbed under that damned train.  I was that tired and needy for the end.

But I digress.  Today's train is moving, and moving rapidly.  It is just long and takes what seems to be an eternity to clear the crossing.  There is, of course, no caboose, something that rather saddens me.  Everything changes. After about five or ten minutes of waiting, we are off.  The group does not seem to split into smaller groups nearly as quickly as usual, and the line begins to accordion.  

 

I become worried about possibly tapping tires and make a break away confused by the faster riders showing restraint, particularly this early in the ride.  Tom H. comes with me and we ride together for a bit before the behind group catches us, but by then the fast group has had their appetite for speed whetted and they take off leaving smaller, slower groups in their wake.  I like the smaller groups as I feel they are safer.  As I recently told a friend, I really enjoy being able to sleep on my side again and know that a fall could take that away as it has done in the past and thus I am cautious of crowds and people whose riding I don't know well. 

The pace is now quicker than I expect to be riding with the climbing that I know is ahead, but I seem to be caught up in the day.   It is cool, not the norm for this time of year.  And everything is green.  Later  I will think that my only regret for this day is that I can't seem to ride in a group or even with another person and appreciate the scenery as much as when I ride solo.  And what scenery it is.  Greenness has taken over the land despite the drought and the orange day lilies, or Tiger Lilies as some call them, have bloomed.  I see the first of the Black eyed Susan's.  White daisies have not yet faded and Queen Anne's lace is beginning to lace the ditches and roadsides. The scenery is much nicer than that of many centuries, but of course that is partially due to the hills.  I assume it is much harder to build on hills, but for whatever reason, it seems to be universal that hilly courses often tend to be synonymous with scenic courses.

 

The climbs come, one after another it seems, and climbs of all different kinds:  some steep, some long, some short, and some a bit of both.  Still, there are some flat and merely rolly roads.   Personally I do better on the the long climbs that are not so steep.  It is the steepness that makes my legs ache and my heart pound mercilessly against my chest.  But it is all good, reminding me I am alive and here and it is summer without the normal summer heat that sweats away your strength. It amuses me to hear everyone talking about how many climbs there are because it seems to vary from GPS to GPS unit, just like the total climb of this or any other ride.  In the end, how many does not matter.  One has to return to where one started to get to the car.  I remember a recent ride where someone assured me the last climb was behind us only to face yet another climb and how I teased him about lying to me. 

It seems mere moments before we reach the first store stop.  I have brought my homemade blueberry oatmeal bar, but I need to get a drink.  Dave King and Chris Quirey park around the corner of the store just as I did.  By the time we have finished, we see that the group has left without us and so we play chase.  Despite that, and much to my surprise, we are able to catch them.  Dave arrives first, then myself, and a few moments later Chris.  Internally I sigh knowing this sprint to catch up, as fast and long as it was,  will have a cost.      

 

Pacing is so  important in cycling or any other distance endeavor. As I once told a new rider going to PBP, go slower than you think you can to the turn around.  That still leaves  you hundreds of miles to pick up the pace if you are feeling spritely.  Fritz tells me what I already know, that he did not know we were on the side of the building rather than in the front with the others.  I giggle thinking of a time we left while someone was in the bathroom.  He got so angry, sure we did it on purpose when we had not.  We just didn't know he was missing. After that we would tease each other about being left behind on purpose.  How often in life do we take offense thinking that something accidental is purposeful?  Quite often I suspect.

The lunch stop is at a gas station.  There are other options available, and we later find that the fast group went to a restaurant when they show up behind us, but the majority stop at the gas station.  I pick the "hunk of pizza," ready and fast.  As someone who made the same decision points out, amusement timbering his voice, it is the best cardboard he has eaten in awhile.  I swear that pizza could not have been cooked today.  It had to be from yesterday or the day before.  Everyone still seems to be in a good humor.  Jokes fly and I soak in the laughter wafting through the air.  

The group spills out knowing that half of the course is done.  Everyone seems to continue to be in a good humor and thus far it has not turned into a death march. Fortunately, while it has warmed up, it is still cool for this time of year.  Dee and I spend much of the rest of the time riding together.  It is interesting to hear about her upcoming event.  She is part of a team that is swimming the English Channel.  I often struggle with conversation, particularly off the bike, but she is easy to talk with and doesn't demand constant chatter.  It interests me to no end, the people that ride and the goals they have.  Sam and John are getting read to face a 200  mile, one day, gravel ride. 

The hills begin to wear on me though I have no real issue in climbing them.  It is nice not to feel tempted to get off and walk.  I seem to feel that temptation more on group rides when the pace is pressed.  When alone, I rarely feel it.  But then when alone I am climbing at my own pace.  Dee and I are riding a reasonable pace.  We are not at the front, but we are not at the back either.  And we just climb, our pace fairly evenly matched.  Or she is going my pace.  With her being quite a bit younger, I don't  know.  I think briefly of how earlier in the ride John F. rode up to tell me I was one of the most inspirational people he knows, and I tuck that thought in my heart to pull out when I am weary and feeling old, something that happens more frequently now.  

Before you know it, however, we are at the end with smiles on our faces at our accomplishment.  We did not set any course records,  but we finished and with a respectable time.  My visions of finishing hours after the group following a death march to the finish did not come to pass. How often I magnify the difficulty of things, and not just riding.  The curse, I suppose, of having an imagination. 

 

 After gathering for a bit while the rest come in, a small group (Tom A, Dave K, Jon W. and myself) go out to dinner together to talk about the day and other things.  And once again, I am grateful for health, bicycles, and friends.  Thank you, Lloyd, for buying my first bicycle.  I think today you were smiling as you watched over me as you promised to do if you could.  This course did not merit the fear I had of it.  It was difficult but I have done much harder courses,  and it was fun.