Sunday, May 25, 2025

TMD STAGE 6 RIDE REPORT: Story Century

"I get the news I need on the

weather report.  And I have nothing

to do today but smile."

Paul Simon

 

One of the worst things about ride captaining can be making decisions about whether to have or to cancel a ride due to weather.  There are those days where it "might" rain or it "might" storm or there "might" be winds strong enough to knock a telephone pole.  If you cancel, particularly if it doesn't rain or hail or storm or there is not a tornado,  someone is always upset.  If you don't and someone gets hurt or doesn't ride due to potential danger, you shoulder blame.  But today is not one of those days.  I have been holding my breath all week long waiting for the ax to fall, but it does not.  Despite all the recent rain and wind, today is predicted to be partly sunny with light winds and a high of around seventy degrees; in other words, perfect cycling weather.

 

Story Century holds many memories for me. It is where Matt "Pocket Chicken" Tindal, someone who used to ride with us, got his name because he carried his lunch in his pocket.  It is the century Mark "Deacon Dog" Rougeux and I rode one day when it literally poured buckets of rain all day long after we had assured ourselves before starting that the rain would stop.  It was chilly that day, and Mark, on his recumbent, had to deal with finding that his riding position allowed rain to enter the sleeves of his rain jacket puddling in the arms.  It was the century where Bill "Cisco" Pustow and a small group actually took the time to eat breakfast inside and how we laughed when the waitress was handing out bills and literally sang "William."  It was the century where a man I didn't know showed up in new white shoes training for the RAIN ride and got so upset when we reached the gravel section even though it was advertised on the ride description saying, "You've got to be kidding me."  (That section has since been rerouted by popular demand;-) And of course it is the century Jon "Lunchbox" Wineland and I rode just under two weeks ago to check the route arriving to find that the grill was not going and we would have to ride twenty two extra miles to find nourishment.  I was NOT jovial by the time we reached Brownstown as the man who stopped to try to talk to us while we were searching for food found out when I did not respond to his bantering. And I could bore you and go on, but I will not.  


It is a large crowd that gathers for the ride on this glorious day.  Amelia Dauer, Tom Askew, Steven Sarson, Fritz Kopatz, Bob Grable, Larry Preble, David King, Harley Wise, John Dippold, Jon Wineland, Steve Rice, Bob Evancho, Keith Baldwin, Mark Rougeux, Jerry Talley, David Frey, Steve Puckett, Michael Kamenish, Terrell Brown, Ben Simmons, Jeremiah Wertendorf, and Glenn Smith all fill the parking lot.  I ask Jerry if Sharon is coming today because, while I only see the back side of her riding off in the sunset, it is good to have other women riding.  Sadly, he says she is not. And the parking lot is full.  Any other riders would have had to park in the spill over lot. Dave King surprises me by not pulling into the parking lot with squealing tires about one minute before the ride start.  Instead Glenn Smith and another rider are the last to arrive.  


The parking lot fills with the sound of chatter, laughter, and bicycle sounds:  brakes tested, front wheels put back on, bikes being tested.  Meanwhile, the sky is blue with a few clouds.  The air has a bit of a bite in it, but it is one of those days when one knows the chill is quite temporary and will be tempered quickly by the sultry the sun.  I tease Mark Rougeux when he is talking about something and says, "Just call me stupid."  I announce that a new Mad Dog is born.  I warn everyone not to go out too fast, that the hills are almost all in the middle of the ride, and to stop at stop signs as they are there for a reason.  I also ask embarrass myself, as usual, by not recognizing Ben.  Ben loses the ability to gain a point as a new rider when he admits to having ridden with us previously. 

 

Of course, we all disregard my warning, at least about going out lickety-split, and the fun begins.  Amelia is the first to notice that we are going 17 to 18 mph, a pace the front riders will probably hold but those of us in the back will not.  Being sensible and not wanting the end to turn into a death march, she reels some of us in the back to more sustainable pace.  I am grateful for this.   While nobody bonks on the ride today, this may be one of the reasons.  Even the back of the pack today averages 15.4.  

 

When we reach the Shield's covered bridge, of my group, only Steven Sarson and I ride through the bridge.  The others take the new road.  Steve Puckett stops to take a photograph and I wait.  It does not take us long to catch up. Shortly thereafter is the first climb.  It is not much of a climb, but your legs do know it IS a climb and after all the flat tend to protest.  After we crest, we near the first store.  I think of how many stores there were when I first put this route together.  Three no longer in business.  


Jokingly, I ask the group if I should announce Mark's new Mad Dog moniker:  Stupid Dog.  Steven tells me that Mark is now appearing on television locally and Steve P. also has seen him.  He is dressed in his religious attire as a Deacon.  Steven suggests calling him Deacon Dog.  Later I will make the announcement only to be reminded that Mark has two other Mad Dog names;  Rocky and Ass Whisperer.  You can ask him about those nicknames;-)  Oh, my memory.  Isn't old age wonderful?

 

There are two possible first stop stops in Freetown:  Dollar General and Denney's.  Normally, unless I have to use the bathroom, I like to stop at Denney's supporting what is an old country store, not the restaurant.  But because of the bathroom, everyone stops at Dollar General.  It is a long stop as a woman beats the group to the restroom and is in no rush to depart.  One bathroom, 23 riders, and one woman who is having issues.  You do the math.

 

 I laugh at John when he tells me he was about to pop on arrival as there is no place on the first of the route to stop.  And there isn't.  It is mostly flat farmland other than the one hill mentioned previously and there is no forest.  While I have always asserted it is easier for a man to relieve himself during a ride than a woman, (other than France where they don't seem to care if you pull your pants down at the side of the road) it is not easy for either without the cover of corn fields or trees.  Earlier, before the ride started, I failed to recognize John.  It is odd how different people look without their helmets on.  Once again, I know who he is.  

 

We head onward toward Story.  This is where the hills begin.  I forgot to remind everyone that the hill we used to have to walk because the road had cracked and slid halfway down the hill and they had closed it placing gravel at the top had finally been mended.  It is not a terribly long hill, but it is a terribly steep hill, as Joe Ward used to say, a "gut buster."  Now, with the road being open,  there is no excuse to walk.  Everyone clambers up only to face the hills that will assault us until lunch.  Still, this middle section is my favorite part of the ride.  I notice daisies in the fields for the first time.  Some of the fields have the yellow flower cover.  I even see a few corn plants that are showing themselves.  

 

When we arrive at Story, a group of five, most of the others are there.  There are a few that have not stopped, but the majority have.  We order at the grill and sit outside chatting and listening to the guitar player.  He looks to be a few years older than me and many of his songs are from my younger years.  Lunch at Story is never cheap, and I forewarned riders in the ride description, but something happens this time that has never happened on our prior visits.

 

Some of us order potato chips with our meal.  In the past, they have always given us a bag of chips.  Amelia gets her food first and there are about 5 potato chips.  When I get mine, there are "maybe" five, four or which are crumbled into small bits.  Others have the same experience.  I later joke about at least there were five since nobody can eat just one.  (Older readers will get that).  I am told that Keith had the good sense to complain and received more. The rest of us eat our four or five potato chips, our sandwich, and move on.  As we are leaving, I notice that the people that ordered after us got full bags of chips.  I joke to Amelia that it really wasn't fair as those people had not ridden sixty miles to get there and didn't NEED a whole bag of potato chips.  

 

We leave with smiles on our faces ready to meet the worst and last hill a few miles down the road.  It is long and is one of those hills that rather than having the steep part at the bottom and flattening out, has the steeper part near the top.  But we climb with the knowledge that once this hill is properly vanquished, there will be no more until Brownstown.  After all, Garmin tells us so.  

 

By now it is Tom Askew, Amelia Dauer, Bob Grable, Steve Sarson, Steve Puckett, and myself.  I joke with Bob that he is going to lose his first place in the standings if Larry finishes with a large group.  Bob banters back that maybe one of us could have a flat tire and he could stop and help.    We make it to Brownstown.  The middle group is just finishing when we arrive.  Some of us go to Dairy Queen and some to the gas station before heading back out and making the last significant climb of the day.  It is a short but very steep scarp, one of those climbs that somehow looks easier than it is.  But everyone makes the climb for the last flat stretch toward home.  

 

I assume that we must have had at least a light tail wind just from the speed with with we finish those last few miles.  Somewhere along the way, we pick up Glenn who went off course and picked up a few miles.  I later learn that Jeremiah also went off course and added quite a few miles. Not even the normal stampede for the barn accounts for our increased speed. 

 

  When we arrive, most have left but  a few are there and spend time chatting before heading out, some to join me for dinner at Cracker Barrel and others for their homes.  Diesel sticks the water bottles he borrows in the pockets on the back of my jersey and everyone laughs when he teases that he is playing with my jugs. It is always good to end a ride with jokes and laughter.    No known mechanicals on the ride.  No known flats.  No spills or accidents.  No bonking or DNF's.  It was a good cycling day.  Thanks, all, for your great attitudes and coming out to play!  


Steve Rice:                3:30 p.m.        Group of 2

 

Mark Rougeux:         3:30 p.m.        Group of 2

_________________________________________________

 

John Dippold:            3:55 p.m.         Group of 3

 

Fritz Kopatz:              3:55 p.m.         Group of 3

 

Jerry Talley:                3:55 p.m.         Group of 3

 

_______________________________________

 

Bob Evancho:            4:14 p.m.        Group of 10

 

Larry Preble:                4:14 p.m.     Group of 10

 

Jon Wineland:            4:14 p.m.         Group of 10

 

Keith Baldwin:        4:14 p.m.        Group of 10

 

Harley Wise:            4:14 p.m.        Group of 10 


David Frey:            4:14 p.m.        Group of 10

 

Michael Kamenish:  4:14 p.m.        Group of 10

 

Jeremiah Westerdorf:    4:14 p.m.       Group of 10

 

Ben Simmons:                4:14 p.m.         Group of 10

 

David King:                    4:14 p.m.         Group of 10

 

____________________________________

 

 Glenn Smith            4:37 p.m.            Group of 8

 

Terrell Brown:        4:37 p.m.            Group of 8

 

Tom Askew:            4:37 p.m.            Group of 8

 

Steven Sarson:         4:37 p.m.            Group of 8

 

Steve Puckett:        4:37 p.m.             Group of 8

 

Melissa Hall           4:37 p.m.            Group of 8

 

Amelia Dauer:          4:37 p.m. Group of 8   

          

 

 






 

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