"Great is the art of beginning,
but greater is the art of ending."
Henry W. Longfellow
It always has a tinge of sadness, these last few rides before the end of the Tour de Mad Dog. It also, however, makes me appreciate each and every rider in the tour, even those that I don't know well and have never really had a conversation with. Somehow, even though I ride with very few of them anymore, anchored to slowness by age, I feel a closeness to them, a connection, a protectiveness, a desire to see them warm, happy, and well. For we have shared something in getting our ten, in making the determination that we would be finishers: hills, heat, rain, wind, comradeship, distance, laughter, hunger, and on and on. How strange that an individual bond is also, somehow, a group bond. Each wants the other to be successful. Some think it just for the jersey, but as for me, I think it goes beyond the jersey somehow. There is, in the end, a sense of completion, of fulfillment. The words of Moliere come to mind: "It is a long road from conception to completion." Yes, we have traveled many miles to get here. At least one thousand.
I am delighted at the forecast. It is so nice to have a ride and not have to worry if there will be rain or excessive wind and decisions to make about whether it will even be safe to have the ride. This particularly applies when one is captaining a ride. It is one thing to be responsible for oneself. It is another thing to be responsible for others. Indeed, it turns out to be the best century riding weather we have had this year. I start with arm warmers that I know I will soon discard as we roll into the cool of the morning. I can say I am not unhappy that the last two stages are easier ones, if there is such a thing as an easy century.
As we ride, I try to remember when I put this route together. It was before RWGPS. I remember it took three or four tries to poke through from Bethlehem to Hanover without hitting gravel. I remember going back into the deserted power plant, Marble Hill, to try to find a road along the river that the paper map said existed but that I never found. It was eerie back there, the large deserted building, a tribute to poor management, and my fear got the better of me.
I think how I miss those days, the days of exploration when I had more endurance, speed, and energy, but I know I am blessed to be out here. The group of 18 divides quickly with the faster riders hammering the flat stretch into the first store stop following the climbs on Hebron Church Road. The back group sees the front group at the first store stop and at lunch. By the third store stop, they are so far in front that we do not catch them. And I am fine with that.
For me, fall rides are to be savored not savagely devoured. And it has always been this way for me. Despite the legs being strong from summer rides, it is time to slow down and to absorb the beauty of the ride for future recall when the winter comes, dull and gray, and the wind howls and keens outside my windows. There is no need to hasten the end of the comfortable riding season. Yes, you can stay warm in winter with the correct clothing, but it is just not the same as heading out in shorts and a short sleeved jersey with merely some arm warmers to knock off the morning chill.
True, there is not much color yet, but despite the heat you can feel it in your bones, this change of seasons. Some fields are harvested and some wait. The soy bean fields always remind me of the stubble on a man's chin when he is on vacation and is not shaving. I feel the sun caressing my skin, warm and comforting, and I try to let it soak into my very being knowing that soon I will shiver and cringe inside my warm clothing regretting all those times I bitched about the heat. The wind is there when you head into it, still gentle but telling me of what is to come, the increased effort, the slaps about the face.
A couple of times we pull over to allow large farm machinery to pass. Or at least most of pull over. I feel a tinge of upset at those that don't. These farmers are working. We are playing. And the importance of their work far exceeds the importance of ours. The farms here are small. Most of the farmers work other jobs. The week-end is when they do their planting or harvest. Some even use vacation days to sow and reap. For some it is a job. For others an act of love.
This ride brings so many memories for me. It was the ride I used to put on the first week of December. We would ride and mail Christmas cards from Bethlehem. It was the ride where it quite often rained and where the wind was usually from the west in our faces all the way back. It was the ride where at the last store stop, I realized that even the strong riders were as tired as I was for while it is a rather easy century with only about 4,000 feet of climb, the west wind somehow makes it a difficult century. To me, wind is more difficult than most hills, because you climb and crest a hill. The wind remains. It was the ride where my daughter had to ferry home three riders who were unable to finish one year, one of whom is on this ride and two that I have never seen before. It was raining and cold that year and hypothermia was a real possibility. The woman working the Subway gave us the plastic gloves they make sandwiches with to put under our gloves and cleaned up the large puddles we left on the floor. But it is time to stop remembering and move on.
At lunch, John Pellgrino and Amelia Dauer produce coupons for Subway. Steve Puckett goes to McDonalds but the rest of eat here: Paul, Amelia, John, and Bob. Dominik has been with the front group but has decided to fall back with us so he has already eaten. While I am not a Subway fan, the food is delicious when shared with friends and sauced with laughter and stories.
The front group is getting to leave when we arrive. I ask Amelia if she thinks Clothes Line, Glenn, will forget his backpack again. She grins and says she had the same thought. But I figure he had learned his lesson. Jon Wineland stays behind to have a bit of a chat with us before taking off. He and a couple others, Chris Quirey (who later tells me he only made one stop due to family obligations) and Vince Livingston ride as lone wolves. While I often prefer riding alone over group riding, this is not one of the days, and the back group is unusually large for a stage as there are now, after the lunch stop, seven of us.
No big events happen on the rest of the ride other than Bob Grable being kind enough to turn around and patronize a little girl who had set up a lemonade stand. I think it shows a certain kindness that is part of his character that he does this. I like this about Bob. It makes me think of PBP and the children handing out drinks along the way. Kindness in this world is greatly underrated. It should be encouraged and valued. We wait for Bob at the last store stop and head out to finish the century. Many today are getting their tenth in and I am happy for them. Two, Steve Puckett and Dominick Wasserzug, need Medora. For them, I hope it does not rain and force me to cancel. The group splits in places, the demands of the short but steep climbs taking their toll, but those in the front wait for us, patiently and unasked. I realize later that I never thank them for this for it is not to finish in a group of five for point purposes, but in the true spirit of the Mad Dogs where no dog is left behind.
Following the ride, five of us have pizza together: Amelia, Paul, Jon, Dominick and myself. There is laughter and stories and the justified satiation of hunger, for we have used our bodies today and they need replenishment. Food is always much better when one is truly hungry, something I will sometimes forget in the upcoming boredom of the winter months when I spend much more time indoors and alone. And there is an ending. Not yet of the tour, but of the day. Tonight I will sleep, something else my body needs. Oh, yes, I am blessed. 19 years of completing the tour along with the two others who have done so: Dave King and Mike Kamenish, neither of whom rode today. Life is, indeed, good.
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