Alaska: Day 3

"If God had sufficient wisdom and power

to construct such a beautiful world as this, 

then we must admit that his wisdom and power

are immeasurably greater than that of man, and

hence he is qualified to rule as king."

Orson Pratt

 

It is day 3 and it turns out to be closer to eighty miles rather than the promised 75.    There is a mist of rain in the air.  Or I think that this is the day that with ended with one rider, only half-jokingly, calling the guide a liar.  Despite my best intentions, I find I have not taken enough notes to separate days and happenings well. We have a breakfast buffet and then head to a bike store.  I enjoy the stop but purposefully leave my wallet in the van as I don't need anything.  I see some cat water bottle holders that I photograph and will go on my Christmas wish list, but I am not about to buy and take them home with me. 

 

We van to the ride start which is next to the air force base and are warned NOT to take pictures until we leave the base behind. We stopped briefly at the visitor's center per Don's request, but most of us don't get out. Frankly, there is not much along that strip of road sufficiently breathtaking to cause me to want to stop and get a photograph.  I am finding that my stiffness goes away, but it takes longer for me to warm up than it used to and comes back more quickly.  

 

 We are ready to ride. My legs grow rather tired and sore, but my mind does not.  They scream at me when the ride begins, but then loosen up.  I expect to be slow but I soon find my pace.  Riding is so much easier if you just find your pace and stick with it.  When I try to push too hard, my legs remind me that they can cramp in retaliation if I mistreat them.  I begin to shorten breaks, however, as I can tell I am stiffening more rapidly at stops.  Yes, they would loosen again, but not so easily as if you keep moving.  I think of brevets and begin to think that Steve is right and I could still complete even a long one, but I don't know that I would ever get my brain into the mindset that successful brevet riding requires again.

 

Throughout the day, my mind strays to thoughts of Lloyd, of how he wanted to move here and how much I still miss him.  There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of him and miss his humor and love and wisdom.  I am not sure he would have liked it here as much as he believed that he would.  I remember that he did his basic training in Colorado and hated it, not seeing the beauty of the mountains.  Perhaps, however, that was tied to being young and away from home for the first time combined with the additional stress of a new situation.  Still, I know he loved to be home.  

 

Today's ride is on the Richardson Highway and next to the Tanana River and we will ride to Delta Junction.  It starts with a very gradual climb, the type Dave complains about but are my forte and I find myself singing.  I notice the trees are beginning to shift back from  birches with their gleaming white bark to the green coniferous trees.  I wonder if they are of any use to loggers.  While they are tall, they are slender and would be covered with knotholes from the numerous branches.  I mean to ask Greg, but I forget and the question never gets answered.  I forget so much these days.  

 

I am not sure how many hills there are as I don't bother counting.  Frankly, I will be glad to see mountains  reappear and traffic on the highway to ease and not be so frequent.  There are lots of large, eighteen wheel trucks, constructed in a way that I don't see at home.  We later learn that they are hauling ore from the mines.  We will see them today and tomorrow and then no more.  Anyway, Rob says there were five climbs.  My personal preference was that there were a few good downhills, something that have been in short supply.  Compared to some of the challenging hills at  home, I don't consider any of them particularly difficult.  I have been surprised and a bit relieved at times. I suspect that we are being ferried over some of the more demanding climbs, but perhaps that is an illusion.  

 

We have lunch near a lake that has ducks on it and what appear to be lily pads, something I would not have expected here.  It is quite lovely.  We panic a bit when it appears one duck has a string caught around his mouth, but we soon see he can still open his mouth.   Everything is just so beautiful, and I try to remember to be thankful.  I think for awhile about how different places have different types of resplendence and wonder and yet how everything fits together in a way that my pea brain can't take in.  When we disturb the balance, there are consequences that we often don't ever correlate with the change we made.  I am thankful that I believe in a creator who does understand.  

After lunch, we reach a point where we have to shuttle across a construction site.  Unlike here, where the construction workers tell you to find another way around or wave you on urging you to ride with caution, they use their truck to carry you and your bicycle and they lead the way for cars needing to go that direction.  Larry and Rob buddy up and go first.  Dave and I wait.  I watch Dave as he makes friends with the flag man and smile inside at how friendly he is and his conversational skills.  What he is doing would be extremely taxing for me.  It takes quite awhile but finally it is our turn.  The ones behind us decide to put their bikes on the van to make the crossing as the van has caught up after being trapped behind fixing a flat for Ron.  

 

I continue to be amazed at the lack of wildlife and how I see more at home.  I have seen two dead porcupines on the road and a few magpies, but no moose, caribou, or any other creature I associate with Alaska.  

 

Before we reach the hotel, we reach another spot which is gravel but which they are not currently working on so we ride through it.  I am with Rob and Larry.  There are lots of pot holes and yet again I am glad I did not bring my own bike.  I feel filthy when we reach the motel at Delta Junction and want to shower.  I get my room key and find my shower does not seem to be working.  Wearily, I go to the front desk who says they will send maintenance.  He arrives in time for me to get a shower before dinner, but barely.  He tells me the last person in the room just took a cold shower.  I tell him in  no uncertain terms that I am NOT taking a cold shower.  He hands me written instructions and I am able to get hot water though it alternates between scalding and cold.  

 

Dinner is just a walk across the road and was decent if not wonderful.  In the food contest, Scotland wins hands down.  But it is not distasteful.  I am tired though  and glad when I can finally return to my room and sleep.  Tomorrow is a shorter day allegedly, only 68 miles.   

 

 

Alaska: Day Two

"Travel.  Make memories. Have

adventures. Because I guarantee that when

you are 85 and on your death bed you

won't think about that flashy car you bought, or

the twenty pair of designer shoes you owned. But

you will think about the time you got lost in your favorite

city.  The nights spent falling in love under the stars and

all the beautiful people you met along the way.  You'll

think about the moments that made you feel truly alive. 

And at the very end, those memories will be the only

valuable possessions you own.

EKP 

 

There is something about waking up in a different, unfamiliar place.  It can be disorienting but it can also be exhilarating.   Those who know me know that I thrive on routine, but I also know changes are good for me on some level.  This week there will be a routine, but an unfamiliar routine and I am glad.  We walk to breakfast where we had dinner.  I find it amusing that they have two cinnamon rolls that are identical other than in size.  The smaller version is the Texas version.  The larger roll is the Alaska roll.  While I would dearly love to have either, I decide a somewhat healthier breakfast might be in order.  Today is a longer day, somewhere around eighty miles of riding and I have no idea of the climbing involved.  So I get a breakfast burrito that ends up being more than even my empty stomach can manage.  I hope it was considered an Alaska size burrito because anything larger would be obscene.  

 

The people riding are interesting.  Three of them did a long ride in countries I have only read about.  Two went as a couple with three other people, Mary Clair and Roger.  The other, Larry, went with a different group.  Of course, with the cats, and probably financially, this would be beyond me.  But it is fun to hear about their travels and to dream.  I am not sure  how long Larry took, but the others were gone nine weeks if I remember correctly.  

 

We mount our bikes to ride along the Nenana River on the Parks Highway.  As we ride, I find today's course to be relatively flat though there is one good downhill that causes me to giggle.  I am glad that I have dressed in layers, something Greg recommends but that I learned from winter riding in Kentuckiana.  The weather seems to be a bit more changeable here perhaps.  

 

The scenery is breathtaking, so different from home, that riding along busy roads does not seem quite as bothersome as it might otherwise.  I have never lived near mountains, but there is something about them that is captivating.  Maybe because I rarely see them, I can't get enough of them.  We also begin to see the birch, their bark so pristine while against the black which I am presuming may be from lost branches?  They stand so graceful and thin, like dancers.  We pull over for a bit to see the river and I notice groups going rafting.  I know that despite the cold water, I would dearly love to do this.  But that is, perhaps, for another time. 

 

 I am amazed at how strong I feel.  I am riding mostly alone as is my preference when I want to take note of my surroundings and not be distracted by talking.  We pull in at 49th State Brewing as they have a replica of the bus from "Into the Wild."  When I get to the bus, there are two children playing inside.  They giggle with delight when I ask if they need my ticket for me to enter.  I wonder if they know the story of the bus and its sadly deceased inhabitant and doubt it.  I remember Jon telling me that if the young man had traveled about a half of a mile away, there was a way to get across the river.  Greg says it his personal belief that depression played into the tragedy and perhaps he is right.  I "think" I remember watching the movie but I know I have not read the book.  I also find the cannabis sign amusing.  I think about how my home state is surrounded by state's where it is legal and is losing tax money daily.  

 

Larry missed the turn for the bus.  Originally I thought he just was not interested, but I later learned he just didn't notice the turn off.  The ride ends with me pace lining in with Rob and Larry.  It felt good to ride hard and I ended with a 15.3 average which I was quite happy with.  Then, when the others arrive, we head out in the van for our hotel outside of Fairbanks.  What a contrast to our secluded, rural cabins the previous night.  When I open the door to my room I find I have a suite with a living room, full kitchen, bedroom, and bath.  The bedroom alone is bigger than last night's cabin.   Dinner is at the motel.  While I find conversing quite draining at times, I am getting better at it with age, or I think I am.  I hope to sleep well as I know my body needs it to recover from the stress of the day, but I don't.  I suppose I don't need as much sleep as I did when I was younger, but I still feel better when I sleep more soundly.  Eventually I doze off, both my tablet and watch set with an early alarm.  

 

 

Alaska: The First Day

"I'm always looking for a new challenge.

There are lots of mountains to climb out 

there.  When I run out of mountains, I'll 

build a new one."

 

Sylvester Stallon

 

 

I awaken and head down to the lobby of the motel to meet the van, dressed in my riding clothes, as instructed.  I had thought of doing this without a guide, but my lack of mechanical skills combined with a possible lack of cell service and sparse gas stations, stores, and motels quickly erase that thought.  Greg arrives, introduces himself, and we all sit down to the hotel breakfast.  It is not the best breakfast, but it is food.  I had thought perhaps, that like one Scotland trip, we would stop to eat along the way at a restaurant, but we didn't and I am okay with this.  I want to begin doing the thing I came here to do:  ride.

 

 The van has the bikes loaded on top rather than on a trailer in the back.  There are three couples:  Don and Gayle , Mary Clair and Roger, Rob and Shannon, and three singles:  Dave, Larry, and myself.  Greg urges everyone to "synchronize their bladders" before we van out of the city to our starting point.  This strikes me as funny and I giggle, but I follow instructions and visit the girls room.  

 

When we stop, we put our pedals and saddles on our bikes. Or should I say Greg puts mine on as well as that of some others.   We are given a pannier to attach.  I've never ridden with just one pannier before and I wonder if it will affect balance. I learn that it does not seem to in any significant or noticeable way.  Of course, it is lightly loaded.  Just a light jacket and my wallet. At first, I miss the handlebar bag that we carried in Scotland as it made it easy to access cameras and phones for photos, but as the week progresses, I decide the pannier is more appropriate for this place where the weather seems to change rather rapidly going from sun to clouds and sprinkles and back.  I find it remarkably clever that Greg has chosen different handle bar tape for our bikes.  This, along with a name label on the back rack, makes it much quicker to distinguish one bike from the other as all but one are white Salsas. They all have kickstands, something I have not had for years but comes in useful along the way. 

 

 It is sunny and the sky is a brilliant blue, but there is a ferocious, biting head wind that, per Greg, the guide, is normally a tail wind.  The wind makes each mile seem like five miles and I again begin to  question if I have bitten off more than I can chew.  I try to relax and not fight it, just find a comfortable pace, but something in me keeps resisting.  

 

The other riders, except for Dave, have all been here a few days and had time to adjust to the time change, but everyone appears to be struggling in this wind.  Perhaps, I think, it is just that I remain tired after a long journey crossing four time zones.  Later in the van, Shannon looks it up and the app says the wind was four miles per hour.  I laugh out loud when she says, "Four miles per hour, my ass."  I agree.  I have ridden in such headwinds before, the kind that suck you dry even if you yield and pedal without fighting back, but it has never been my favorite riding weather even while it is character building.  Wind is, in its own way, worse than tough hills.   There is an ending with a hill or mountain on a ride, that moment when you crest and feel like a queen, eagerly anticipating the downhill.  But with the wind, it seems eternal and unyielding.  It may change or ease during the ride or it may increase and/or continue.  

 

The wind not only slows me, but chills me despite the brilliant, cloudless sunshine that I am desperately trying to soak into my soul as a shield for the cold, dark winter that possibly lies ahead.  While I chill, I glory in the colder weather.  At home, while I had adjusted, it was like riding in an oven.  When we stop at Denali, Greg tells us that we are lucky as it is often too cloudy to see.  Denali stands tall and beautiful before us and I am humbled and grateful that there is such beauty in the world. Along the way we pass numerous dead trees.  When I question if it was fire or insect, Greg says it is the spruce beetle.  They burrow under the bark and disrupt the water transporting system of the tree.  He says that they can't survive up where it is colder and those trees above that point survive.  

 We cycle along Parks Highway.  Trucks and tour buses, particularly from Princess Tours, pass frequently.  There is a large shoulder and no side roads that would allow us to escape the highway, but for me it is a change as I mostly avoid riding on busy roads.  There is no wildlife:  not even dead along the side of the road.  This surprises me.  The road is rough in places with large potholes, and I am glad I didn't bring my own bike though the Surly would have handled it well.  Rob complains about not being able to go fast on these bikes, and one doesn't go particularly fast, but the ride is smooth considering the road surface, and with the treads the tires are less likely to flat.  

 

At one point, we see a giant igloo on our left.  It is deserted and has signs about prosecution if you violate the no trespassing order.  Evidently, it was originally intended to be a hotel, but that did not happen.  For awhile, it operated as a gas station.  That too closed down.  The next thought was to turn it into a distillery, but that was a year ago and there is no activity or cars there so I suspect it was another pipe dream. Still it seems a shame that it is not put to some use for it certainly is unique. 

 

 

We stop for lunch at a pull off alongside the road.  The best thing about this and the other lunches are the cookies Greg's father made for us.  Everyone finds them irresistible.   The rest of the lunch is so so.  There are fruits, candy, chips, and packaged lunch meat.  Ron asks for peanut butter and I am glad to find there is some.  While I eat a bit of it, I am not  much for most lunch meats.  Regardless, it is fuel for the journey and nothing can detract from scenery.  We are seeing both the Alaska and Talkeetna ranges as we ride.  There are lots of rather odd looking red flowers that I am told are called fire-weed.  And there are white flowers that may or may not be yarrow.  

Along the way I pick up a pair of wire cutters lying along side of the road and a ratchet for the nylon straps of a tie down.  I decide the wire cutters are probably not the thing to take on an airplane and leave them with Greg.  I also leave the ratchet behind.  I have no need for it.  Perhaps in this pull off, someone who will use it will see it.  The roads are remarkably free of litter other than the occasional tool that bounced off a truck and a plethora of bungee cords.  I assume this is because there are no fast food places or even much in the way of stores or gas stations that people can buy disposable items from.  Regardless, it adds to the beauty.  

 

There are no significant climbs and what there is suits me.  Throughout the week the majority of climbs are long climbs that mostly are not steep, the kind I can climb forever without too much effort.  In places the roads remind me of the Texas Hill country in that way.  I expected it to be more mountainous but this is but the first day.  

 

As I ride I think of my sister, Pam, and how much I miss her.  I know she would have been as excited about my getting to take this trip as I am.  And, of course, I think of Lloyd.   Would he have loved it here or decided that we made a huge mistake.  I think of the long hours of daylight right now, but the long hours of dark and cold in the winter.  Greg says he gets through the winter by ensuring that he gets outside for the four hours of daylight they have in Anchorage in the winter.  But he was born and raised here and for him this is normal.  Neither Lloyd nor I were born here. 

 

By the end of the day, I am in the first in and pull Larry in while I battle the head wind.  And what a battle it is just to maintain 10 mph. My legs and lungs aches from the effort, yet it feels good for I know I am using them and they are responding.  Training for an event does pay.   Larry later thanks me.  Dave, who was with us, dropped off and argues about whether I got the Cantwell sign, but he knows I did and I know I did.  This is the playful banter of friends.  I think of how glad I am to have his company.  Today is our short day and we stop early due to dinner reservations, but with the wind it did not feel short. Rather it feels like an eternity and I am not opposed to stopping.

 

We get in the van and ride to The Perch where we are staying in small cabins. Before we get out of the van, someone asks if they have plumbing as we spot what some think are outhouses.  We do have plumbing.  It is one room with a loft and beds both up and downstairs.  Wood floors.  No insulation.  And a bathroom.  There is a tiny table and bench.  I rather like it.  We go for what is one of the better meals of the week and on the way I see a magpie.  I have a salad with salmon on it followed by a slice of peanut butter pie.  Both are filling and delicious.  We then walk back to our cabins.  I hope to finally get a decent night sleep and I do.  

 

 

On the Way to Alaska

 

 "We live in a wonderful world that is full

of beauty, charm, and adventure.  There is no

end to the adventures we can have if we only

seek them with our eyes open."

Jawaharlal Nehru 

 

 

And so it is finally here, this moment that I have been waiting for, longing for: the Alaska trip. When I first retired, I wanted to do this bicycle trip, but a friend who is not so into bicycling talked me into another Alaska trip that involved less bicycling, more hiking, and some kayaking. The Pandemic stole that trip, and everything was put on hold. Until now. 

 

 I decide that rather than the multi-adventure, I want to do the bicycle trip though I wonder if I have bitten off more than I can chew. I originally intended to do this ride when I retired. Then it changed to the multi-sport and back.  I am so glad it did not destroy a friendship that I treasure, but my time of doing this type of thing thins with the passing of each year. I don't want life to slip through my fingers. I want to grab it and suck the juice out of every bite so that at the end, I don't have so many “I wish I hads” to deal with. Interestingly, this idea comes up at one point during the tour, that regrets at the end of life tend to be those risks and adventures we did not pursue.  I chose Alaska, in part, because my husband wished he were in good enough health for us to move there, and he will haunt me on and off the entire trip. 

Having, unfortunately, been with so many family members as their ends drew near, I know that this is something that haunts people, along with past unresolved hurts received and dealt. How fragile is human understanding. Last night as I lay in bed, I read one of the few diary entries my mother left me and realized that age has brought me so much more empathy for the things life threw at her. From her I draw my strengths on the whole. Unfortunately, from my father I inherited mostly cowardice. But perhaps age will help return him to me by growing understandings, this man who divorced and discarded his family as if they were an old, bothersome pair of socks.

But enough of that, I am on a plane with my friend, Dave, whose friendship I treasure and who has been my companion on my last two Scotland adventures. I dearly hope this one is as memorable and as pleasant as those. I realize how lucky I am to have someone willing to go along on these trips for I don't think they would be nearly as enjoyable without him. Over the years, with thousands of bicycle miles together, he has become someone whose friendship I dearly cherish.

I have been assiduously preparing for this trip and being Co-Director of the Tour de Mad Dog this year has helped as I have felt obligated to ride the centuries even on those hot days when it would have been easy to talk myself into stayin home under the air conditioner or riding a shorter, less demanding route. And there have been routes that have tested my endurance and courage. I am indebted to those who have captained these rides and to Bob Grable who has ridden with me on most of them because age has robbed me of speed. It is nice to have a road companion that one really likes, who reads and is able to tell me about books. I miss Bill Pustow's companionship in so many ways, and that is one of them. Bill always was in the middle of an interesting book that he would tell me about. I am, I suppose, as my father once noted, essentially a dreamer. I love stories.

I also am grateful to Jon Wineland who is always willing to share an adventure and a century whether it “counts” or not. We have shared two back to back century rides this year in preparation, though the first was not nearly so demanding as the TMD overnight to French Lick. The first involved a lack of fuel at Story and the fact that once I discovered there was to be no lunch until eighty miles or so into the ride, a lack of joviality on my part.

Anyway, I feel as ready to face the adventure of riding from Anchorage to Fairbanks and back averaging seventy to seventy five miles per day as I can be. I have gotten a bit faster, and my endurance seems to be okay. I did expect Delta to provide a meal on a trip this long. And I suppose they did: if you want to pay for it. The only free thing anymore is snacks and drinks. My body already aches for fruits and vegetables but I suspect they will be available on our adventure.

I am tired. I have not slept well this week and getting up at 2:30 A.M. This morning to get to the airport in a timely manner did not help. Plus there will be the adjustment to the four hour time difference. But fingers crossed that I have not bitten off more than I can chew. Dave says the twenty mile climb is either the last or next to last day so fingers crossed that I remember it just means pushing down one foot after the other.  Regardless, it will be an adventure, and I excitement pierces my tiredness.  

 

(Dave at the airport) 

 

 

RIDE REPORT FOR TMD STAGE 13: SALEM: AMELIA'S WAY

"Ah, summer, what power

you have to make us suffer

and  like it."  

Russell Baker 

 

I can't say that I am not wary of the upcoming century and the predicted heat index of over one hundred, but I have come to accept that it is going to be one of those summers.  We don't have them too often, but when we do they are cruel.  Being unusually hot and humid  puts demands upon you that other summers just don't.  They are not just physically but mentally challenging.  Even stepping out the door to go to a ride can be a test of will power.  Most summers have a few days of this, but this summer has been one of those that is working overtime, as if testing us and our resolve.  It is not so much the heat, but the humidity.  The news weather person keeps describing it as "tropical." 

 

You have two choices when there is this kind of summer:  ride and learn to tolerate and deal with it or not ride.  You can modify by riding shorter distances and going at a slower pace, but if you are going to ride, unless you go out in the dark, and perhaps even then, it will be hot and you run the risk of cramps or heat exhaustion or even heat stroke.  Everyone who is a finisher this year will have my respect.  Well, I suppose every years finishers have my respect, but this year particularly so because it has been a hard year not only course wise but weather wise.  Or perhaps it seems that way due to my age.  What was hard at forty is not the same as what is hard almost thirty years later.

 

Riding in the heat is not easy.  I don't know that it is harder than riding in extreme cold and wind, but it is difficult regardless.  I am glad that Amelia decided to start the ride at 7:00 rather than later and that she is treating everyone to a new course to Salem.  I know she has put a lot of work into the course, changing it once due to road closures and driving it to ensure that there are no issues with road closures or road conditions or closed stores. While I have ridden all of these roads at one time or another, I have not seen them put together this way before and I know it will be a good if difficult ride with the hardest hill being Leota Hill.  As she points out at one time, the climbing in the route, like Story, is all in the middle of the ride. She is also honest that were she not captaining, she would not be here.

 

Most of us have had those rides where we were not well trained enough to handle the heat or we rode too hard at the start of the ride or we entered the ride already dehydrated or don't pay attention to dehydration during the day.  Those are the rides where every fiber of your being screams for water because more is being excreted in the form of sweat as your body struggles to cool organs because you can't drink enough to replenish what is being lost.  These are the rides when you have to use common sense at times and call the sag wagon if it becomes too much.  Tenacity and determination are fine qualities in a human being, but at some point can become stupidity.  There is no weakness in doing the smart thing.   Fortunately, this does not happen on this ride, that arguing with someone who wants to continue when they should not or accepting that I, myself, should quit.

 

I arrive at the ride start early.  I see a large crowd of cyclists and am surprised at such a turnout because I figured the turnout would be small, but it turns out it is another cycling group and not the Mad Dogs.  Still, 18 people sign in:  Amelia Dauer, Mark Rougeux, Tom Askew, Larry Preble, Bob Grable, Jon Wineland, Harley Wise, Fritz Kopatz, Michael Kammenish, Thomas Nance, Bob Evancho, Glenn Smith, Vince Livingston, Keith Baldwin, Tony Nall, Paula Pierce, Terrell Brown, and myself.   I am told Tony and Paula don't intend to do the entire ride.   Unfortunately, before even starting Bob Evancho, freshly returned from his travels and from visiting his grands,  finds he has a flat.  He is offered a tire and/or tube, but he is running tubeless and decides he will not ride.  After scratching his name off the sign in, he heads home.  His is the first of a numerous flat day, giving lie to someone's recent comments about how we don't see as many flats as we used to.   Some time during the day someone tells me that most of us ran over numerous bits of broken porcelain.  I, personally, did not notice it, but I was probably talking too much.  

 

The starting temperature, depending upon who you talk to, is 77 or 78 degrees.   Amelia tells everyone they can head out.  As usual, everyone just stands there for a few seconds before bicycles and riders spill into the street.  I've never understood this, but it seems to happen every ride.  I head out expecting to be quickly passed, but that does not happen.  I find that I am feeling very strong today and that the heat is not, thus far, an issue for me.  This is good news and not what I expected.  I expected to be quite slow.  I debated not riding or leaving early,  but I need this ride as I am training for Alaska and repeated demands on an aging body that is not used to riding distance day after day for a week. 

 

As we head out, I talk briefly with Harley and ask after his wife.  I am so happy to hear she is feeling better and even has been out with him on the bike.  I know he has been missed on the past few centuries. Harley is kind enough to compliment my ride reports.  Keith says that he has a friend who is a writer and had started a program for the elderly in nursing homes, capturing the stories.  Her program is "Feet to the Fire." The program sounds interesting.  I google her web site though I don't spend enough time there to digest the information.  I will save that for winter. 

 

I talk with the one who I understood to say that people hated the overnight ride.  He tells me I misunderstood him, that people were not saying they hated it, merely that it was hard.  I am glad to have that cleared up.  Both Thomas and I spent quite a bit of time creating that event, designing the routes, driving the routes, finding a reasonably priced motel.  Hard is okay not only because of the sense of accomplishment, but because those are the rides you best remember.  I blog many of my rides in an attempt to hold onto them, but still they blur in memory unless they were particularly hard or something particularly unusual happens.  I remind him of when doing a hard ride was fun and not just hard.  Perhaps that is what we need to hold onto though I  can't seem to do it anymore in winter.  I went over 12 years riding an outside century every month of the year in the past.  But now I have a hard time getting out the door in winter to ride even a short ride. Oh, well. While I am not and will never be the rider he is, we have shared many miles and many roads and I treasure his opinion and his friendship.    

 
The first of the ride is mostly flat but with roads that are not often included on our centuries.  Once we leave Sellersburg behind, we are mainly on lightly traveled country roads until the we return to Sellersburg.  The water is high along the sides of Weber Road and I briefly wonder if it could be flooded and impassable.  This has happened on rides before.  But it is not.  I believe it is along this road that I first realize Amelia and a few others are not with us because the group is hanging together.  I ask and am told she had to stop with Fritz for a flat.  I will later learn that Fritz has not one, but two, flats  one of which is caused by a slit in his tire.  From what I learn, he was able to continue as Thomas Nance loaned him a tire.  Harley Wise will later have a flat just outside of Salem.  Keith stops to help him out.  

 

For many of us, it is our first trip inside the new store stop in Henryville, the newly renovated gas station that is a huge improvement over the old store stop which, over the years, has become progressively worn out despite being completely rebuilt following the tornado in 2012.  All of us are wondering about Amelia, Fritz, and Thomas.  Tom tries to call Amelia but there is no answer.  I text but get no response.  (She later texts that she is at Circle K so we know she is okay). Since we don't know what may have happened or where people might be, we head on trusting that they are together and all is well.  So long as they are together they will catch us shortly. 

 

The first big climb is Leota Hill, a hill some are familiar with from the Maple Syrup Festival Ride, the traditional Salem Century,  or from another ride.  It is not as difficult as many of the hills we have climbed this cycling season, but it is a challenge.  By this time the fast group has moved on and it is Bob Grable, Terrell Brown, and I.  We lumber slowly up the hill.  At the top. Larry is waiting for us and is taking photos.  And we head down  Saylor Road.  Bob Grable tells a funny story about being on a ride in the area and on a hill, pulling up to an Amish buggy.  He said it was a very hot day, just like today.   Larry was with him.  The man in the buggy, being Amish, is of course fully clothed.  Bob remarks to the man,  "It sure is hot out here."   the man replies, " Yup. You know, there is something you can do about it."  Bob asks what and rather then receiving some magical trick that the Amish have to tolerate the heat in full dress is told that he can always ride faster.  

 

I, in turn, relate my story about the time I was on Saylor and a young Amish boy on a pony pulls along side me and asks if I want to race.  I think it is along this road that we come upon a pond on the left hand side.  Standing in the pond in a line as straight as if they were in the military are four young cows facing the shore, all black, identical in height,  their rear ends glaring straight at us.  For some reason this strikes me as being particularly amusing.  There is also a foal along the way, short neck strained and legs splayed as he learns to graze from his mother who is close by, tail swishing at flies that are troubling her, chestnut cost gleaming and dappled in the sun.  They are enjoying the lushness that the rain, warm weather, and humidity have brought.  And while my body is not enjoying the heat or the humidity, I also am enjoying the verdant abundance that surrounds us.

 

I remark that is seems almost like the end of August rather than July with the hay bales neatly rolled in bales dotting the pastures.  But perhaps not.  The corn, while tasseling, still has a way to go before it browns and the ears point downwards rather than upwards.  The soybeans are not yet yellowing.  Queen Anne's Lace runs riot along the roadside, but there is not yet Ironweed or the other flowers that tell us that fall is here. 

 

We reach the lunch stop with no issues and the fast group is still there.   I hand out coupons to those that want them.  Mine works.  The others have issues with theirs.  There are three people working so it is not long before we are back on the road.  I warn them about the black dog at the top of a climb after the bridge and the lumber mill.  He does not come out today, but there is a tan dog, saliva dripping from his mouth.  Despite his barking, we ride by unscathed.  

 

The fast group has again left us behind and this time it is Bob, Terrell, and I.  Bob surges ahead for a bit and it is just Terrell and me.  I warn him of the upcoming descent. At the top part, Bartle is a fairly technical descent and is quite steep despite the switch backs. I briefly think of Roger Bradford, no longer with us, descending and how I felt sure he was going to crash when his tire slipped in some gravel.  I still remember the relief when he managed to keep it upright. 

 

  Bob is familiar with it as he climbs Bartle on some of his solo rides.   During the descent, a car is coming on one of the turns just as Terrell reaches it.  He later says it was a tense moment for both of them when combined with the strain of the hill on his rim brakes.  And he is right.  Bartle is quite steep in places near the top.  I have descended it many times with rim brakes, but you definitely have more control with disc brakes. 

 

During the descent, it begins to look like rain and we come across wet roads where the rain preceded us.  Bob asked if I heard the thunder.  I did not.  By the time we reach the third store stop, Thorton's, the rain is coming down, not heavily but more than a light drizzle.  It is not that there are as many drops as there can be in a light drizzle, but the drops seem larger than in a drizzle.  Mike "Diesel Dog" later tells me that in the store the clerk asked him how far he had to go.  He tells her about twenty miles.  She is amazed, but not so amazed as when he tells her how far he has already ridden.  Her response is, "In this heat?"  I giggle at this story and think of the meme I saw recently where it says that people are being told that it is hot and to check on the elderly.  I am  up by five it says.  Bring donuts;-)  

 

It is during the last quarter of the ride that a couple of people begin to cramp.  I notice Larry unclipping on one side and pedaling with one leg.  He and a couple others fall a bit behind.  We stop at a gas station we pass to allow them to catch up and perhaps rest.  He said he thinks it is best if he just goes on.  I then get a text from Thomas that Terrell is cramping and he has stopped with him.  I stop at a shady spot and wait for them.  The others opt to go on with Larry.  

 

I am beginning to get worried when they appear over the crest of a small hill near where I stopped to wait. Thomas later tells me they stopped two times and Terrell finally accepted a Rolaid.  Thomas turned me on the miracle of Rolaids when you are cramping a year or two ago when I was having my turn of leg cramps.  While I wait, I think how much Thomas embodies the spirit of the Mad Dogs.  He is one of the fastest riders out there today, but he is finishing last and has stopped twice that I know of to help others.  I so admire his patience and just the fine person he is.  The Dogs are lucky to have him as a member.  And I am happy to see how everyone gathered to help Larry get in because in the past I have come across riders abandoned by others along the side of the road.  Indeed, I remember Dave King chastising some riders who left another along the side of the road on a hot day back when Dave was TMD Director. Anyway, while I was not with that group, it is my understanding that Diesel began pushing Larry up the small climbs that were left. This is done by riding alongside the ailing rider and placing your hand on their lower back while you pedal upwards.  Don't expect to see me do it as I would likely cause us both to crash, but Mike has always had excellent bike handling skills. 

 

The ride ends and I am glad.  It is not one of those rides that you wish would go on forever, largely because of the heat.  But it has been a good day. And best of all is that nobody had to be rescued or ever cramped or had problems severe enough that people worried about their continuing or their ability to finish.  I laugh when I hear Terrell say he was supposed to run tomorrow but does not see that happening.  I need to try to ride tomorrow as part of my training, but we will see if I get out the door into the oven again.   As Mr. Baker notes, summer did make us suffer, but I like to think that everyone else was also glad they rode knowing that in a few short months we will be wishing for riding days where we can go out in shorts and a jersey with no arm warmers or jackets or vests to tote along with us.  

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

THE FOLLOWING IS FROM JON WINELAND ON HIS OBSERVATIONS DURING THE RIDE:  I particularly like the story about seeking Tom Askew. Jon has a ready wit and a keen eye so I often enjoy hearing his observations.  

 

After the first store stop, Mike Kamenish and I were some way behind Tom Askew and I called out that I could just see the orange spec of his jersey disappearing over the horizon of a hill some a mile or so distant.  As we gained on him, that spec turned out to be the orange triangle on the back of an Amish buggy, and Mike accused me of calling Tom a horse’s ass.  I said that, well, it could be an improvement.  When we eventually caught up with Tom, I told him the story and he was amused.

And, speaking of the Amish, Mike and I were approaching an Amish man pounding in metal fence posts with a two-handed hammering device that fits over the post.  Mike hadn’t spotted him yet and wondered whether the clanging noise was coming from his bike!  It was hot work for such a day, and Mike said he could be riding his bike instead; I pointed out that the man’s bicycle was lying in the grass and that he’d probably ridden it to the worksite…with that enormous hammer in the basket, or as Mike said, perhaps in a jersey pocket.

On the return trip through Speed, there were a couple of funny signs on Highway 31.  

• One was at Speed Memorial Fellowship Hall, “Hot and Wet    ?     Party Inside”  Punctuation is important.
• Another was at Speed Memorial Church, which has a lighted sign out front, and it was advertising some church program called “Streams of Grace” with details underneath.  Directly in my line of sight behind the sign was a man with a hose, watering plants by the front steps with a garden sprayer in the afternoon heat.
• Silver Creek Senior High School also has a lighted sign out front, and I had noticed on our outbound journey that it said “ 8o° ”  While mentally thanking Amelia for the earlier start and cooler temperatures, I did wonder why a smaller font had been chosen for the “0” in 80.  Well, on the way back in the broiling afternoon, the sign still said “ 8o° ”  So, I guess it would be right twice a day—eventually.

Jon

 

Finishing Groups:

 

Vince Livingston        Group of 2        3:02 p.m.

Jon Wineland              Group of 2        3:02 p.m.

 

Larry Preble               Group of 8    3:30 p.m.

Fritz Kopatz                Group of 8    3:30 p.m.

Keith Baldwin            Group of 8      3:30 p.m.

Glenn Smith                Group of 8        3:30 p.m.

Tom Askew                Group of 8        3:30 p.m.

Harley Wise                Group of 8        3:30 p.m.

Michael Kamenish    Group of 8        3:30 p.m.   

Bob Grable                Group of 8        3:30 p.m.

 

Thomas Nance        Group of 3        3:45 p.m.

Terrell Brown        Group of 3            3:45 p.m.

Melissa Hall            Group of 3        3:45 p.m.  

         

 

 

 

 

RIde Report on Old Gilgal: TMD STAGE 12

"May you never fear those mountains

in the distance, 

Never settle for the path of least

resistance.   Living might mean

taking chances but they're worth taking.  

Loving might be a mistake but its worth

making, "

 Mark Sanders and Tia Sillers 

 

 

 

 Old Gilgal is a tough century.  I know it will be even tougher than normal with the weather prediction:  nineties with a feel like temperature of over 100 and high humidity.  I toy with the idea of skipping it because I know this will not be a "fun" century under these conditions despite the beauty of the course.  But the challenge draws me out.  I guess I like the feeling that comes with accomplishing hard things along with the risk of failure.  How often have  I not done something because of that fear?  I think that, perhaps, in the end, I will regret not taking the challenges more than any failures I might encounter.  For failures teach us about ourselves and are an integral part of learning.  Are we smart enough to say enough when  it has, indeed, been enough for us?  Are we brave enough to continue when it would be easier to quit?  When does bravery become stupidity and even selfishness?  How easy it becomes  to "fear the mountains in the distance."

 

 And with more miles behind my legs than in front of them, I decide not to waste the day sitting at home wondering if I made the right choice.  I will not "settle for the path of least resistance," at least for today.  I fear that once you do, it is the kiss of death, that you never, ever pick it back up.  And frankly, I love it.  I love the challenge, the sounds, the scenery, the companionship, and the effort that is distance cycling.  I love the way my thighs and knees ache on climbs and the way the wind kisses my cheeks and whispers in my ears on descents. I love not knowing what might lie just around that bend ahead in the road.  I love using muscles and brain to navigate and decide how to corner a certain turn or master a certain climb.  I love cresting a climb and knowing that hill was conquered for today. And I love that moment when  you know that, despite everything, you are going to finish, that the parking lot nears.  Or at least most of the time I love that part.  There are those rides that I wish never had to end. 

 

I heard from someone today that didn't ride the overnight that most of you really hated the French Lick overnight experience and I was saddened by this information.  Like most things in life, I suppose overnight journeys are not for everyone.  I truly felt a sense of accomplishment and pride at conquering a difficult  course under difficult decisions.   And I was not only proud of myself, but of each of you who rode and endured with not one word of complaint.  I suppose, because I am the oldest and often the only woman on the rides, I feel motherly toward you.   Frankly, I miss the old club overnights:  Wacky Tacky, Mammoth Cave, and TOKYO, and would not trade those memories for anything. I hoped to give you the same.  I wanted it to be a gift from me to you, this sharing of something I love. I suppose, as I told Fritz when I told him maybe next year he should re-consider whether to hold an overnight despite the vote to have one, that I am weird.  On the Monday following our trip, a part of me was sad not to be putting my leg over the top tube and heading out for new roads and new places in your company.  Anyway, I do apologize and freely admit that had Thomas and I known it was going to be so hot while you could have gotten your money back, we would have canceled and rescheduled given the difficult of the courses and the expected heat. 

 

But back to today.  Fritz, the ride captain, is much stronger than I am (heck, everyone riding the centuries is stronger than I am anymore) and so I email him early in the week  asking for permission for a couple of us to leave early.  And he says he is okay with this.  So Bob Grable, Dave King, and I leave 45 minutes before the rides official start time.   When we head out, there is not even the briefest kiss of morning coolness on our cheeks.  It is 76 degrees already when I pull into the parking lot.  But it is not yet searing hot and I do have some time to appreciate not only the company, but the greenness and beauty that surrounds me.  Despite the heat we have been having, everything has remained oddly verdant, I suppose due to the rain that has accompanied the heat.  It is a deeper and richer green than the green of spring when tendrils and leaves spring forth innocently tentative.  "Is it time," they seem to say.  "Is it time?"  I suppose June's beauty  is the same beauty as that of an early middle age woman or man who have reached the peak of development before the atrophy that is old age begins.  

 

I later learn that there are fourteen that sign in and twelve that finish.  One person forgot their shoes and never started.  The nine finishers, besides Dave, Bob, and myself, are Larry Preble, Fritz Kopatz, Rory Whitaker, Vince Livingston, Michael Kamenish, Bryan Holden, Dominic Wasserburg, Glenn Smith, and Jon Wineland.   

 

At first, there is conversation and laughter and catching up to be done.  Bob believes we will be caught by the others by the first store stop.  I think it will be at lunch as it was the previous year on this century.  Bob and Dave talk briefly about the new bike Bob has purchased.  David and I talk a bit about our upcoming trip to bicycle in Alaska.  I tell him I believe there is a twenty mile climb on our route, though the grade is not huge. He tells me he dropped by Scheller's and dealt with John Molnar to check out the bikes we will be riding there.  He also tells me John says hello and it makes me smile inside and remember the many trips to Jeff Schwinn years ago.  John was always so encouraging, never laughing at my stupid questions, showing me how to change a flat so that I felt I could explore more roads on my own unaccompanied for I did not, at that time, ride with any club.  Not laughing at my pride when I finally finished a century with a 15 mph average.  I owe him much. 

 

 

But I know conversation will fade as the day progresses and the miles and heat begin to take their toll for it is that way on almost any century, and today's will be especially challenging.   As I said earlier, I do not believe this will be a "fun" century, but it will be one where you get a lot of satisfaction from conquering the course. 

 

We reach the first store stop easily but already every stitch of our clothing is wet and we have not been riding hard.  We have not been lollygagging, but we have not been pressing the pace.  I even manage to wring a few drops out of my saturated gloves.  I tell myself and the others to remember to drink knowing that not drinking enough on a hot ride is a personal weakness of mine.  I also remind myself to taste my sweat as I know that when it stops tasting salty, I need to get some salt in to balance things out.  There is really no way though, even with drinking, to replace the amount of fluids we are losing and the day is still young.   At least I know I am going into the ride fully hydrated.  

 

During the miles between the first stop and lunch, Dave drops a chain early in the climb.  He says he is fine so Bob and I progress up the hill. No Dave.  We continue to climb.  No Dave.  Bob says he does not want to go back and climb up the hill again and I agree, but we both know we will if we need to.  We stop at the top and wait and I pull out my phone to call Dave when he appears.  He said he spent some time finding a stick to assist so he didn't get his hands all greasy.  This will be the only mechanical we have all day other than Bob's disc brakes screeching like a banshee from hell.  Bob says he thinks this is from his sweat falling on them.  Dave teases him about putting some oil on them.  But for whatever reason (we never stop sweating) they stop doing this down the road.   

We keep expecting others to catch us, but it is only at the lunch stop that Glenn "Clothesline" and Vince "Invincible appear, and this is as we are heading out.  There is a strong head wind that we must face and a few lesser climbs before coming to Old Gilgal.  I still think it interesting how different the climbs are counted between Garmin and Wahoo, and even individual units of the same make count differently.  For me today, with my new Wahoo that I am not very happy with, I have 29.  Why, you ask, am I not happy with new new Wahoo?  Because it randomly tells me I have completed a course when I have not and I have to reload it or it loses the arrows completely.  They tell me it is a known issue and they are working on it, but can give no estimate on when it will be correctly and have not yet replied to my request concerning a return and refund since it does not work as expected.   

 

We don't see Glenn again until the end, but Vince catches us at the third store stop.  He jokingly asks me if his century will still count if he calls an Uber.  I take it as a good sign that he can still joke because I am almost beyond that point.   For those that don't know, Vince designed this course and Rory designed the Crestwood Killer.  I am hot and tired and long to stop cycling.  My feet have been aching but it is helping walking around the rest stop in my socks.  Inside the store is a refrigerated beer cave.  Bob and Dave make use of it.  The owner urges me to while refusing to charge me for ice, but I head outside to the bikes and picnic tables after thanking him for his kindness.  The biggest climbs are behind us.  Successful completion actually seems possible.

 

 Vince will catch us at the end, but we head out while he is still resting.  Big, gray storm clouds are gathering and thunder explodes.  Somehow, we miss most of the rain though wet roads tell us it rained there before we were on them.  What was a head wind becomes at times a ferocious tail wind helping us to quicken our slow pace.   

 

I don't think any of us are sad to reach the parking lot.  I, for one, am glad to get off my bike and put on my sandals.  We are weary, but I believe that each of us is glad we came.   In the end, it is really not about just getting your 10 centuries in.  This is 12 for me and a few others.  It is about the love of distance cycling and about "screwing our courage to the sticking point" and facing those mountains in the distance, not just on but off the bike.  It was a great ride, Fritz, thank you for captaining.  And thank you to Vince for the course design.  Next up:  Amelia's century.  Hope to see you there.  

RIDE REPORT ON FRENCH LICK OVERNIGHT: STAGES 9 AND 10

"You have to motivate yourself with 

challenges. That's how you know you

are still alive."

Jerry Seinfeld

 

 

I have been keeping an eye on the weather because the motel for the Tour de Mad Dog overnight requires 72 hours cancellation.  I see it is not supposed to rain and we decide to hold the ride.  Or maybe it is more accurate to say nobody mentions canceling so we don't.  Then the weather prediction begins to worry me as the weather forecasters begin predicting heat in the 90's that will have a heat index of over one hundred.  Poor Thomas has to stoically endure  email after email from me as I worry about the upcoming ride.

 

The TMD always used to have an overnight, but somehow it got lost along the way.  When I sent out a survey earlier this year, surprisingly, at least to me, respondents wanted to revive it.  Personally, I always thought it was a shame that it was discontinued.   I have so many fond memories of past overnights.  Some were tour stages and some were not.  I guess a favorite memory was the year Jim "Grizzly" Moore brought his guitar and song sheets for a sing along and we sang "Mad Dogs in the Sky."  Not one time, but repeatedly;-) There was just enough alcohol involved that  people participated fully.  I can still hear Jim Tretter pounding the table and yelling, "One more time."  And there was the year when we arrived Mike "Sparky" Pitt had provided Halloween masks for everyone. Or the year Steve Royse arrived too late for the sag.  We stopped for clothes for him at a Goodwill near where we were staying.  For anyone who is interested, Larry has a video memory of some of these events on Youtube. Somehow overnight adventures seem to accentuate the group bonding of the Mad Dogs.  

 

 Thomas Nance was kind enough to volunteer to captain but requested a co-captain.  I waited hoping someone else would step up to the plate because each year I doubt my ability to do back to back centuries at this stage of my life plus I tend to be rather bossy and at 69 I am not going to change,  but when nobody does I bite the bullet.  Once we decide on a destination, I plan a route there and he plans the route home.

 

This was before knowing it would be scorching hot. Thus far I have always been successful on multi-day trips.  Hopefully this will not be the year that changes, but if it is there are lessons we learn from failure.  How little we would progress without the occasional failure.  It is good to challenge yourself occasionally, to try new things or hard things or different things, to, as Seinfeld notes, know you are alive. 

I think you miss a lot in life if you only do those things you are sure you can do successfully because it means limiting yourself and not really knowing for sure if you could or you could not.  Sometimes it is good to put yourself outside your comfort zone. I have thought that about Lance Armstrong and his drug use.  Could he have won once or even repeatedly without cheating?  Neither he nor anyone else will ever know.  Looking back, many of the things I regret are those things where I didn't accept a challenge or stretch myself a bit.  But that does not mean that making the decision to take the plunge is always an easy one.  I am, after all, a chronic worrier with an over active imagination. 

 

Because of the hot weather prediction and worrying about how people will do, I sleep only a couple hours at best the night before, restless to the point where even Tom, the cat that always sleeps at the head of my bed, arches his back, stretches,  and heads for the floor to sleep alone and undisturbed by the inconsiderate human who keeps tossing and turning.  Everything is laid out and waiting for morning to arrive.  Bottles half filled with water in the refrigerator waiting for last minute ice cubes.  Clothing that is lighter in color.  Sign in sheets and sign out sheets.   Wallet.  The preparation all made easier by knowing that there will be a sag vehicle and we will not be riding self-supported.

 

So at this point I want to give a few gigantic shout outs.  Bob Evancho, I hope you realize you won the lottery the day you asked Molly to marry you and she accepted.  Thank her again for being such a wonderful and dependable sag.  Not many people would be willing to devote two entire days to carrying luggage, ice, and water for a group of dirty, smelly, sweaty cyclists.  A huge shout out to Janet Bolen as well who also offered to provide some sag services if necessary.  It was a huge relief  knowing we had someone we could call if a rider needed assistance or a ride in.  Not everyone has a spouse who is supportive of their hobby.  These two ladies are and I hope their husbands appreciate it. Another shout out to Thomas Nance who was the first to agree to captain this throw back ride.  Without our TMD ride captains, the TMD would cease to exist.  And Thomas can always be counted on to captain rides as needed with the patience of Job himself.  

 

Morning comes and I am surprised as car after car rolls into the parking lot.  There are seventeen of us:  Larry Preble, Bryan Holden, Tom Askew, Keith Baldwin, Jon Wineland, Bob Evancho, Glenn Smith, Thomas Nance, Jason Willis, David King, Tim Getloffuge, Fritz Kopatz, Joe Bolan, Ed Scharfenberger, Jeremiah Westendorf,  Carilo Molina, and me.  Four are not LBC members.  I am surprised.  Even without the heat, I did not expect this kind of attendance. 

 

The parking lot fills with nervous anticipation as each of us nurses our hopes and fears for the coming days.  I know that Jeremiah is only riding with us part of the way and is planning on turning around.  Jon Wineland and Jason Willis are opting to go self supported:  Jason because he is planning on a solo self-supported trip later this year and Jon because he is weird;-)   (I can say that because Jon is a dear friend, because he IS rather off, because I have said it to his face many the time while also claiming the title as my own as well).  Perhaps we are all weird, getting ready to ride two hilly century rides over two days in extreme heat without being acclimated and when most people are planning to be inside under the air conditioner or outside in the swimming pool.  And then we have two who plan on riding there and back without staying all night.  Of those two, only one will be successful:  Bryan Holden.  

 

 

One rider, and I am not sure who, has trouble with his brakes in the parking lot.  I assume they get fixed because he rolls out with us into the already warm air at 7:00 a.m. heading for the Red Barn.  But maybe not.  I don't know Tim and never hear of or from him the rest of the ride.  So perhaps it was him. But when we finish, the parking lot is empty so he evidently is not dead and forgotten somewhere out on the side of the course. 

 

The route today is one that I planned.  I have driven  most, but not all of it.  What I did not drive, I "thought" I knew and had taken roads from other rides going in that direction.  But more on that later.  I called Amos a couple of weeks ago telling him I would be bringing a group of riders in and he has promised to have Gatorade.  I normally ride and don't drive my routes ahead of time as this tells you more about dogs and terrain, but this route is an exception as it would have involved an overnight stay. 

 

The group stays together  for longer than I expect.  As we head for the first hill, a hill I have warned them about and that is shortly before the first store stop, the chatter begins.  Everyone is in a good mood.  Fritz and I chat a bit about the TMD jersey and other things.  I speak with Bryan Holden for a bit recommending he consider PBP in the future since he apparently is comfortable with riding at night and with distance riding.  Keith and I find that we have something in common besides a love of cycling.  Both of us had siblings that were in accidents that caused them to be in a coma for a long period of time before awakening: his brother and my sister.  Keith, Larry, and I talk a bit about loss and how hard it can be at times.  In the end, you have no choice but to move it, but it is never easy if you have loved someone who is gone. 

 

As we talk,  groups begin to form and my group is the last to arrive at the Red Barn.  I had thought I would be at the back alone most of the ride as my strategy was to ride even more slowly than usual, and I can no longer keep up with many of the riders.  But this never materializes.  Nobody stays long at the Red Barn as we want to make use of the cooler air.  No, it is not cool, but we all know it is cooler than it will be in the afternoon.   I do warn them of the hill ahead, the one Larry remembers that Cathy Hill named "The Wall," and  I also warn them of the hills after the last store stop as we pass Paoli Peaks.  While I have not faced them on a bike, they appear to be quite punchy when in a car.  (I later find I am not incorrect). 

 

On the long descent following our departure from the Red Barn, I notice someone's bottles flying out of their cages and spinning out across the road.  It turns out to be Bob Evancho's bottles and Tom Askew, who was behind him, is dodging them.   Fortunately, for we are flying due to the steepness of the descent, Tom and I both miss them. Bob has to turn around to retrieve his bottles and I wait.  Today is not the day to not have water bottles full and ready.  Hydration will be key. It reminds me of Medora one year when it was hot.  Bernice lost her water bottles and did not stop because she did not think she could get them and catch the group or that the group would wait.  I retrieved them for her.  She would have definitely been in bad shape had I not done so.  But having aged and slowed, I better understand her reluctance. 

 

When we arrive at "the wall,"  I am with the group. By the time we finish the ascent, however,  I am not.  It was a huge decision for me whether to take the Lynskey with my triple or the Calfee.  I chose the Calfee.  I have climbed this hill numerous times on the Lynskey and it is one hard hill, but I have never done it on the Calfee.  I am amazed at how hard I am struggling when my wheel turns a bit bumping my toe.  And I am finished.  It is clip out or fall. No way am I descending to start again and no way can I restart.  So I walk cursing myself for hitting my toe, for being weak,  and for bringing the wrong bike for the job.  I also worry about the hills to come. At the top I notice that I was attempting to climb the hill in the big ring and relief washes over me.   Tom Askew has waited for me at the top and we take off toward lunch together.  

 

Shortly thereafter, what do we come to but......drum roll.......a gravel road.  This is not supposed to be on the route.  I have no idea how bad the gravel is or for how long.  I have Dieseled the other riders telling them there is no gravel on the route when there obviously is.  Fortunately the gravel is easily ridden and is only for only a short stretch, but as I am cracking up imagining the ribbing I will receive while  simultaneously I worry if there will be more.  Actually, as it turns out, there are very few comments about the gravel, maybe because it isn't bad, but I think how lucky I am that Diesel isn't there after the teasing we gave him.  Diesel is, when people ask, per Jon Wineland, adultering this week-end.  From what Jon told me, what he meant to say was adulting, but of course once adultering was mentioned it could not be dropped or let go of without a thorough teasing.  There isn't more gravel, but I don't recognize these roads.  The other routes that use these roads must use a different part of them.  I ride and enjoy them and the company.  

 

The orange day lilies are blooming as are the daisies and black-eyed Susan's.  Despite the heat, everything is still quite green and lush from the recent rains. And I adore being on roads I do not ride regularly.  Tom Askew tells me about different things throughout the ride as do others.  While I knew he was in the service, I did not know that he played tennis and represented them at times.   

 

We arrive at Orleans to find that the Dawg House is no more and the pizza place does not open until noon so everyone but Dave and Jon decide to eat at the Mexican Restaurant.  I don't think the overnight riders stopped either or Joe Bolen.  Tom and I arrive after the others and they originally want to seat us in another room but we end up sitting with Bob and  Molly.  The food is good and quicker than I expected.   When they bring the checks, however, she does not take my credit card and obviously doesn't understand English well enough to understand that she put my meal on Tom's bill.  Tom is fluent in German and knows some Spanish, indeed he ordered in Spanish, but decides not to press the issue.  I try to give him money for my meal, but he declines.   As we leave, I see Jeremiah on the street and he tells me he is turning around.  Since the restaurant in about 60 miles in, he will get a century in today, but not one that counts toward the TMD. I bid him safe travels and later text him to ensure that he arrived back safely.  

 

Seven of us basically ride together the rest of the ride.  When a few get ahead of us, they wait for us and we regroup.  It reminds me of the old days, no dog left behind.  I don't remember if it was the first or second day, but at one point while re-grouping, we ride up to find the group conversing with a young, overweight young man on a bicycle.  The boy is obviously flabbergasted that we have ridden our bikes there from Scottsburg. I wonder if he is trying to decide if we are lying.  He is also seeing a bunch of adults riding bicycles.  As a child, I never remember an adult on a bike:  only children.  I wonder if it will expand his perspective or give him ideas he might not otherwise ever have growing up in a rather small, rural, Indiana town. 

 

  A few streets later, this or another boy makes sure to show us up by riding in an area next to the road and passing us.  Of course, he has a motor on his bike, but he is obviously quite proud of himself.  Thomas and I talk a bit about bikes when we were kids.  Thomas said his group was fascinated with Evel Knievel and would build ramps to jump on their bikes.  To be young is to think  one is invincible to  harm, but what fun those exploits were.  Perhaps, by choosing to ride today and face these harsh conditions, a little of that remains alive in us even as we age.  I like to think so.  

 

The next store stop is only about ten miles from the motel, but with the heat and the upcoming hills I recommend that everyone stop and top everything off.  Fortunately, they listen because the heat is getting pretty intense.  Dave was  quite distraught at the previous store after finding they did not  have ice cream.  and  I was in the dog house;-)   This store, however, does not disappoint. I can feel the heat is beginning to tell on me. Earlier in the ride,when Keith has a flat, we begin to joke about others getting flats for a chance to stop and rest. ( At least I "think" it was day one. I find it hard to remain chronological on multi-day rides)  At one point, Keith helps me out loaning me a tool to fix my loose water bottle cage.  As lose as it turned out to be, I am lucky I noticed and stopped.  Frankly, I would have continued to the next store before tightening it not wanting to hold up or lose the group, but they all encourage me to fix it now.  Losing use of that cage due to a lose screw could have been disastrous.  I am thankful I listened to them and owe them big time.  

 

Luckily, there is also a fairly strong head wind that helps keep us cool enough the rest of the day.  Not cool enough for comfort though, just cooler than we might otherwise have been.  It is blazing hot and little of this part of the route is shaded.  Each of us is coated with a shiny layer of sweat no matter how much we try to hydrate.  I know there is no way we can adequately replace the sweat that is covering us.  Time to begin monitoring urination.  A weird topic, but one the is appropriate for distance riders who need to monitor color and frequency to best judge dehydration.  

 

I walk portions of a few hills on those last miles into the motel only to always find the others waiting and we finish as a group other than a few riders that went ahead riding at their own pace.  When we arrive we find that Camilo, who originally intended to ride back with Bryan, is done and trying to find a way home.  Eventually, he does.  Finishers for day 1 are as follows:

 

Jon Wineland:  3:23  Group of 1

 

Camilo Molina      4:00   Group of 2

Bryan Holden        4:00     Group of 2

 

Ed Scharfenberg    4:00     Group of 3

Fritz Kopatz            4:00     Group of 3

Glenn Smith        4:00    Group of 3

 

Melissa Hall        4:44        Group of 7

Larry Preble        4:44    Group of 7 

Bob Evancho        4:44 Group of 7

Thomas Nance        4:44  Group of 7

Keith Baldwin        4:44  Group of 7

David King            4:44   Group of 7

Tom Askew            4:44 Group of 7

 

Jason Willis    ?    Group of 1

 

When we arrive, Fritz and Glenn are already in the swimming pool  having gotten in before us.   Jon Wineland has already showered and dressed as has Jason.  A few of us walk to Dairy Queen for a post-ride milk shake, or, in Jason's case, blizzard.  We agree to meet to walk across the street for pizza at 6:30 to give everyone time to shower and rest for a bit.  At dinner, we don't all get to sit together but the service is fast and the pizza is good.  When we order the pizza, Tom is ahead of me.  The woman asks if we are together.  This causes us to laugh as we avoid a repeat from lunch.  Then when they bring the pizza the same thing happens.  They ask if Tom and I are together.  It appears this is going to become a joke on this ride.

 

 

A few of us order enough to have the extra for breakfast the following day.  The others will pick something up at the store.  At dinner Jon tells a funny story about the day.  Ed was riding and being chased by a German Shepherd, first in the yard but then in the road when the fence line ended.  When he realized Ed was too fast and far ahead for him to catch, he paused not knowing Jon was coming up behind him.  Jon yelled and the dog jumped about three feet into the air before skedaddling back to his yard.  Keith's wife has  joined him and it was delightful to meet her though we were at separate tables so never got a change to chat.  I wish we could have all had a table together and that the restaurant was less noisy, but at least we got fast, filling food.

 

After dinner, we decide that we want to leave earlier than scheduled to beat more of the heat.  Bags are to be in the car by 6:00 and we ride at first light.  I rather expect Jon to object as he did on my Montgomery overnight, but he does not. We walk to Dollar General to pick up a few more things for our rooms for breakfast as the breakfast places do not open until 7:00.  After that, I don't know what anyone else does because I am tired.  My head hits the pillow and I sleep.  While they might have gone out dancing and partying once I departed, I strongly suspect most did the same. 

When we gather in the morning, it is cooler than it will be but already in the seventies and quite humid.  Thomas announces he is taking a bit off the route where we go past  the hotel.  This will mean we reach the climbs earlier.   We head out into a misty morning and the worst of the climbs.  The climbs are challenging but I don't ever struggle like the previous day.  Sleep has restored me. The scenery is fantastic.  

 

Keith later tells me that the mist made him feel as if he couldn't breathe for a bit on the hills and I understand where he is coming from.  We hit two significant climbs almost immediately leaving French Lick.  The air is so moist it is almost cloying.  I suspect most of us feel the same. But the mist also accentuates the early morning beauty giving everything a haunting, mystical feeling.  For some reasons it makes me think of a couple morning rides rolling out on TOKYO, a four day tour Steve Rice used to put on for the club. Those that did that ride will always share a bond, and I hope that we all end this ride feeling the same, that we look back on this trip with the pride of accomplishment and a shared adventure.  

 

 I actually feel much stronger than I did the prior day.  Ed passes me on his recumbent going UP the hill, and I  tease him about my shame at being passed by a recumbent going up a hill as if he has not been ahead of me the entire ride.    I think how much I love overnight or multi-day trips, particularly in the mornings when everything is so fresh and roads are new and unknown. As I am contemplating this, I notice something.  I crack up when I realize that Tom has on the same jersey I picked for the day.  I later tease him that all we need is a tandem since on this trip everyone that does not know Tom is happily married to a wonderful person seems to think we are together.  

 

I am really enjoying the new roads we are on and am so grateful to Thomas for putting this  route together.  We reach Marengo almost too quickly it seems despite the climbs.  Not that I complain when Thomas tells me the major climbs are behind us. We  follow  Jeremiah's suggestion to stay on the highway as it is not busy this time of day.  The official stop is Dollar General, but most of us opt for the gas station.  When I go to us the restroom in the back, it is occupied and I find a group of old men gathered around a table drinking coffee.  I ask them if this is the Liar's Club.  They find this amusing and we engage in chatting for awhile.  I giggle when one says he wishes he had legs like mine.  I figure in ten more years, which I guess is about his age, I will wish I had legs like mine as well. 

 

The second stop is in Palmyra.  A couple of people on the ride begin to develop leg cramps that will hound them the rest of the day.  They are offered Rolaids and Electrolytes and other fixes. These help but never completely remedy the problem.  At lunch I notice Fritz has metal water bottles.  I ask about them and he says he got them at Bob's.  He said they really keep things cool.  Someone asks him how they are for squirting dogs and he admits they don't work for that, but I still like the idea of no plastic and may pursue it in the future.   I see Jason outside the lunch stop and he tells me he stopped at the grocery and is going on.  I hug him and send him on his way asking that he text me when he gets back so I know he is in safely.  I later learn that Jon missed the lunch stop and just rode on finishing with Jason.

 

At Salem, the third store stop, the day is telling on everyone, yet they are all positive and in a good mood.  There is still joking and laughing and very little moaning or groaning even among those cramping.   Everyone is determined to see this ride through, and remarkably they do.  And seven of us finish as a group, encouraging, regrouping, making this happen. This would have been a demanding overnight without the unexpected heat.  The hills both days were challenging and many. The fact that the heat just happened, slapping us in the face, made it tougher as nobody had been able to even begin to acclimate as you normally do with a few shorter rides.  We return as proud conquerors of the hills, the heat, and ourselves.  A few say it is the hardest ride they have ever completed.  NO DOG LEFT BEHIND!   A few had finished before our group.  I hope they also had a joyful finish and  not a "Thank God, it's finally over finish."  We ARE still alive. 

 

Tomorrow I will wake with part of me glad for the rest day that I see in my future, but there will be a part of me that is sad that I will not be swinging my leg over the top bar onto the bike for another day of adventure.  WELL DONE DOGS~WELL DONE. 

 

FINISHERS ON DAY TWO:  FRENCH LICK TO SCOTTSBURG

 

Jon Wineland        1:47   Group of 2

Jason Willis            1?47  Group of 2

 

Fritz Kopatz        2:49   Group of 3

Glenn Smith        2:49   Group of 3

Ed Scharfenberger    2:49    Group of 3

 

Thomas Nance        3:22         Group of 7

Bob Evancho            3:22       Group of 7

 Larry Preble            3:22        Group of 7

Melissa Hall            3:22        Group of 7

Keith Baldwin        3:22        Group of 7

David King            3:22        Group of 7

Tom Askew            3:22        Group of 7