Wheels of Screams 2023

 
"Nevertheless, I will tell you that you

will awake one day to find that your life

has rushed by at a speed at once impossible 

and cruel.  The most intense moments will

seem to have occurred only yesterday and 

nothing will have erased the pain and pleasure, 

the impossible intensity of love and its dog leaping

happiness, the bleak blackness of passions

unrequited, or unexpressed, or unresolved."

Meg Rosoff

Wise words, those of Ms. Rosoff, and they play a part in my decision to attend the next century despite the abrupt changes in weather, the distance to the start, and the difficulty of the course.  Because I know I will miss this.  The contemplation of a ride, sometimes laced with a trace of fear or trepidation, the ability to put one foot after the other, to brave hills, to brave cold, to brave the possibility of failure.   The thought of companionship or solitude, of laughter and sharing, of the unexpected, and roads that I don't know as well as I know my own living room lure me.  Fall passes quickly.  Ride while it is still a delight.  Ride while fear of the challenge is less than the excitement of the challenge. 

 

 First I check with the ride captain prior to the ride to see if my growing slowness is a problem for him.  I know Thomas always sweeps his rides.  All club rides used to be swept, but it doesn't happen all the time anymore.  Sometimes it seems as if everyone is vested in ending the experience as quickly as possible, and I know I, myself, have been guilty of this rush, am still guilty of it at times.  Sometimes it seems that only my solo centuries are those where I truly relax and rarely push.  

 

I know this century has lovely scenery, but I also know it has unrelenting climbs that challenge not only the legs and lungs but the heart and mind.  I know that it will not be a large crowd as many people ride only to get their ten Tour de Mad Dog centuries in and do no more, particularly if a course and/or the weather is demanding.  This course, however lovely, is hard and demanding and it is cold and windy.  Indeed, earlier in the week the wind prediction gave me pause, but it moderated to a tolerable level.

It seems strange getting ready.  Just five days prior, I did a century in temperatures that were unseasonably warm: high eighties.  Today the start is in the low forties and the high is only expected to be the low sixties.  I worry about over or under dressing as it always takes me a few rides to get the right combination.  And the wind will play a part here for it is predicted to be on the stronger side.  I find I am not the only one when Chris Quirey is lamenting that lack of a light jacket.  Larry Preble has an extra and loans him one, something I suspect Chris was grateful for the entire ride.  It reminds of a ride where Don Feeney borrowed my green jacket which was way too small for him.  We called him the hulk during that ride. More people that no longer ride, some of whom I haven't seen for ages, but I still smile at the memory.

I believe there are twelve or thirteen of us, but I fail to photo the sign in sheet, didn't count, and my memory fails me, something that happens quite frequently anymore. Or perhaps I merely notice it whereas before I did not.  Regardless, it is more people than I expected.  And the thought of losing memory is frightening. I do know it was good to see Tom Hurst back on the bike and riding strongly after his fall earlier this year.

 

 

Somehow the topic of gifts come up and I tell the story of the year my husband bought me a load of turkey dung for my garden for either our anniversary or Valentine's Day....can't remember which for sure.  Oh, how it made me laugh.  I could  not garden that year because the smell of the dung permeated the air everywhere outside.  And suddenly it is as if he had just died rather than passing a number of years ago.  Oh, as Ms. Rosoff says, "the impossible intensity of love."  How quickly that time passed.   How I still miss his arms and his support during hard times, his help making decisions or doing things around the house that I struggle with, but just as much or more I miss his humor and the funny things he would do, like the dung, with love in his heart and the best of intentions but that make others cringe.  We move on.  We find new and different loves.  We have more and different experiences.  But we really don't move on I suppose.  Perhaps bury would be a more appropriate description in more than one sense.  "Every heart has its haunted chamber, Where the silent moonlight falls!  On the floor are mysterious footsteps, There are whispers along the wall!  And mine at times is haunted by Phantoms from the past, As motionless as shadows, by the moonlight cast! " (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)  

 

But back to the ride.

 

Bob Grable and I had talked of perhaps starting early as he has an event to attend and I know I will be slow.  As it turns out, there is a small group of us that head out early.  It is nice that there is another woman on the ride. On most centuries, if there is another woman, it is Dee or Amelia.   Distance riding still seems to be mainly the province of men in this part of the country.  Dee leaves early with me though we only end up spending part of the day riding together.   I warn everyone that I intend to ride slowly and not press myself as I have been doing.  I know this course will sap my strength and I don't want to finish wishing I had not ridden or totally wiped out.  There is a time and place for that.  That time is not today.  Fall, for me, is a time to slow down and soak up the beauty.  And this is just the course to do that on.  

Dee and I ride together while the others take off.  Thomas Nance, the ride captain, catches us and rides along.  He said that Chris Embry had a bike problem they struggled with a bit at the beginning.  By that time, Chris had passed us long before, young and strong on the bike.  I hope Thomas is being honest that he does not mind riding a slower pace for he is certainly capable of being with the first group.  

We reach the store stop and realize that Steve Puckett is not with that group.  Chris Embry reaches him by phone and we realize he is, indeed, behind everyone.  Somehow Thomas missed him at the start.  

 

The first store is very quaint but appears to do a good business.  I sit longer than normal drinking the milk I purchased and eating the oatmeal blueberry bar I made at home.  Steve pulls in just about as the group is getting ready to leave.  I leave with them, but don't chase and fall behind.  I am fine with that.  This is a course I don't mind riding alone because you see more, and despite being on mostly state roads, the roads are not busy.  I think how often scenery is tied to hills, probably because it is harder to develop hilly land than flat land.  Regardless, it is lovely with fall reaching forward to color the land.   Her skirts swirl and dance in the wind, falling into the road, confetti for our passing.

It is not too long before Dee leaves the group and drops back.  Dave as well and we ride together to the lunch stop.  I know Dave does not like Subway so I am confused when he passes Dairy Queen and Burger King to Subway.  I just figure he has changed his mind but when I look, he is gone.  Dee and I enter Subway and there is a long line.  I tell her I won't wait and head to Burger King.  And were they fast.  I ordered and filled my drink and my food was ready.  This allowed me to be one of the first to leave the lunch stop. And junk food is junk food.  One fast food restaurant is much the same as the others. 

I worry a bit as the wind has picked up and is slapping me around on the way out of town.  Fortunately, it is mostly a tail or side wind the rest of the way.  As I climb two, short steep hills that require standing, I am glad nobody is with me to witness my struggle.  But I don't stop and I don't walk.  Somehow I keep the pedals turning and make the ascent knowing that these are just the start of what is left to conquer.    I feel a sense of pride at the top of each climb.  I have made it and I have not walked.  Not that there is shame in walking a hill.  I have walked plenty of them.  But walking a hill is like using my triple, something I think it is best to avoid making a habit.  

While alone, I savor the scenery in a way I don't seem to be able to do when riding with a group.  But I am also thinking of my new bike.  Bob from Clarksville Schwinn called at seven last night telling me it was done.  In fact, I debated skipping the century to pick up the bike but decide to ride and pick it up on Sunday.  But I long to ride it and to see how it ended up, to get to know it, and hopefully get to trust it to get me through that days journey. 

Before long I am caught despite my head start.  I end the ride with this group and am glad I am with people when a pick up passes with a young man leaning out the window yelling something.  "Cut me some slack," I think as he yells.  Then I think,  "I am old enough to be your grandmother."  Originally I think he is yelling because I have fallen behind the group on a climb, but he yells at them as well.  None of us could understand what he said, but it is not the first time for any of us that someone has yelled at us as we ride down the road not bothering anyone.  

I debate passing the last store stop and riding in because there are so few miles left, but stop and the very front group is there.  We all finish together.  My legs tell me repeatedly that they are glad to be done, but my heart is still a bit out there on the course thinking of the beauty and the slight sadness of fall and wondering if this is the last time I will ride this course.  Endings are, I suppose, always a bit melancholy just as they are inevitable.  

There is a bit of joking in the parking lot, but I don't linger long as it is a long drive home.  I warn them about the predicted weather for next week-end, Medora, the last century of the TMD for 2023. As almost always is the case, I am glad that I came and glad that I still can ride.  I rue my growing slowness, but appreciate the health that allows me to continue however slowly it may be.  And one day there may be an e-bike in my future.  But not today.  Today's pleasure will not, I hope, ever be erased.