Ride Report on Buckner Riverdance

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, 

the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme,

and some stories don't have a clear beginning, 

middle, and end.  Life is about not knowing,

having to change, taking the moment and 

making the best of it, without knowing what

is going to happen next.  Delicious ambiguity."

Gilda Radner 

 

It is the last TMD stage of 2025, and as all endings seem to do, it brings mixed feelings.  Maybe more so than usual as I remain unsure if I will ride the tour next year and that if I do not, it is one of the few times I see many of the Mad Dogs.  I know I have said that before, but one of these times it will hold true.   It will just depend upon how this old body winters. 

 

Life, it seems, has so many changes and goodbyes, but it also has new beginnings and hellos.  As Gilda so wisely points out, delicious ambiguity. Will our decisions bring heaven or hell or, as I have experienced, a strange amalgamation of the two.    But then,  one thing I have always loved about riding.....you never know what awaits just around the coming bend in the  road.  I grin thinking of the time I first encountered Depot Hill, a hill on my Mangler ride, and internally said, "Oh, no, what have I done?" Still, it sometimes bothers me, all the stories I know the beginning of  but will never know the ending of.  Those that used to ride centuries and the tour and I don't know where they are or how they are doing or what their interests are. The children and people I encountered while working.  

 

Three of us have been finishers every year since the TMD inception:  Mike "Diesel" Kamenish, Dave "Bam Bam" King, and myself.  Twenty years is a long time.  We have shared much: sun, rain, wind, snow, hills, hugs, laughter, mechanicals, jokes, and more.  It will be hard to say good-bye.  I have never been good with good-byes however inevitable they may be.  Mike and Dave, I hope you know that I love you both and how much I appreciate, or more appropriately perhaps, treasure our friendship.  I will see what the winter brings and whether spring draws me out as is her wont whispering to come ride with her and she will share the glory of rebirth with me.  And, of course, there is the lure of our little competition as to who will be the last dog standing;-)

 

I can say I am no longer a fan of cold weather riding, and this last stage promises a cold beginning.  It is supposed to warm though, and while I know there are some climbs that will make my legs vow revenge, there are no 21 percent grades like last weeks century.  (Please remember, Dogs, that there is a catalogue on the LBC web site of most of the past tour stages, some of which have not been done in a long time).  An additional attraction is that it is a course we have not done for awhile.  

 

Experience has taught me, that soon I will be longing for a day with today's temperatures.  It has also taught me that if I don't ride, by this afternoon I will regret that decision.   Fall is so brief.  Already many trees stand bare and exposed.  There is beauty there, daguerreotypical in nature. I have always wondered why, in so many older photos, people do not smile but face the camera grim faced and stern with no welcome on their face or in their eyes.  Winter has a cold, stark beauty reminding me of magazine models who are so physically perfect but have no warmth in their smiles.   So, I pack my gear, make sure my bike is ready, and head out into the dark to the ride start.  Despite my cursing under my breath, my whining, and my procrastination, it is just what I do. 

 

I had contacted Fritz earlier asking him to be honest about whether he would prefer I stay home as I feel fairly certain I will be the slowest rider and he will feel obligated to stay with me.  It is not so bad when a ride captain only captains once and sweeps, but Fritz has captained more than his share this year.  And Fritz is so fast.  There is more than a little disparity between our speeds. He assures me it is okay.  I had forgotten, however, that the time has changed and that I can head out a bit early.   I truly don't want to be a bother.  I also know from much experience as a Ride Captain, that cold and hard riding conditions shorten patience and tolerance, at least for me. 

 

One thing that always gets me about hard courses this time of year is that you know you will soon lose any strength you gain from riding them.  This is not a hard course, per say, but it has numerous climbs.  In the spring and summer you can console yourself or talk yourself through the painful moments knowing that your legs are hardening and that the next ride will be made easier because of it.  You know that the hill that seems insurmountable today will not seem quite so steep or so long the next time you set out to conquer it. Because that is what we do with hills.  We use our strength to try to vanquish them. Those hard, painful rides make for the rides where you feel strong and as if you could ride forever and conquer any hill someone puts in your way.  But that consolation is lost in the fall when you know that winter will slowly leach away the strength you have built leaving you weak in the spring.  

 

There is a larger turn out than I expect as it seems that once the morning becomes raw and biting and people have their ten centuries in, they tend to chose the bed over the road.   15 people sign in:  Jon Wineland, Larry Preble, Steven Sarson, Bob Evancho, Michael Kamenish, Jerry Talley, Harley Wise, Todd King, Glenn Smith, Dominic Wasserzug, Sharon Jetter, Ken Johnson (unsure of that name), Tom Brag (also unsure of that name), and Fritz Kopatz.  

 

As I noted earlier, since it is daylight I roll out early hoping not to hold Fritz up too much during the ride.  Three others decide to roll with me:  Larry Preble, Jon Wineland, and Steve Sarson.  I am glad I have not only my rear view blinker but my front blinker on the bike today.  The fog is dense and I think to myself how true though banal the term "thick enough to cut with a knife is" when describing it.  Water is literally dripping off my helmet though it is not raining. My glasses quickly fog to the point where I realize I can't wear them and still see, so I prop them further down my nose to clear my line of vision.  This, however, impedes my seeing my GPS, but since I am following it is not a huge issue.  It is the best I can do with full finger gloves on.  I would have to stop to wangle them into a pocket, and I am not stopping. With no eye protection, the wind bites my eyes making me glad I remembered to use my artificial tears this morning but I know I will later pay the price with scratchy eyes.  But safety takes precedence.  

 

We ride through a construction site and not only is the pavement still wet, but there is lots of mud covering the road that is getting splashed onto my bike.  I think how I wish I had brought the Lynskey.  My new bike has never seen these conditions and I shudder internally at the thought of her drive train.  But the damage is done and I will not let one bad decision ruin the day.  At least there is a warm day predicted next week and I will be able to do a thorough cleaning.  

 

We ride together to the first store stop.  At one point I ask Jon if he thinks we will ever leave the yellow lined roads and get onto some rural country.  Jon knows these roads better than I because he rides them more regularly.  He assures me that we will. Inside the store is a young man curious about our riding.  When someone tells him where we started from and the time, he asks if they mean we started at eight the previous night.  It makes me think about how very little those who do not ride really understand those of us that do or what we do.  He then lights up a cigarette and I move outside, the smoke bothering me.  Prior to that, however, I did see that Sharon was riding.  I knew she needed this century to get her ten but I did not see her at the start, so I am really happy she is here.

 

I head out with a faster group but quickly decide to ride my own pace and little by little, they edge ahead.  I expect those behind me to catch me, but it never happens and I ride the rest of the day alone.  I truly am not unhappy with this development as it will allow me to ride and climb at my own pace without feeling that I have to ride harder or that I am holding anyone up.  It will allow me to savor scenery that might otherwise get screened out by conversation. Besides , I am in a pensive mood, not uncommon for me in the fall.

 

  Later, while doing the long climb up to Port Royal, I find myself thinking, for the first time in years, of sitting in my mother's lap while she read me "The Little Engine That Could."  "I think I can, I think I can" I say to myself with a huge smile on my face.  Thoughts and memories like this come so much more frequently when one is riding alone. 

 

At the start, people were concerned that Fritz had taken the route off of Carlisle Road and put it on 42.  Many say they are going to stay on Carlisle and I figure I will too, but since I am alone I stay on route. The only issue I see is that if Fritz and the others behind me take Carlisle and I don't, they could get in front of me.   Still, I figure that is better than turning around and maybe getting lost.

 

Frankly, I will say that 42 had little traffic and was quite scenic so I am a bit confused.   There were many, many busy roads on this century with little to no shoulder.  42 is not one of them.  It does not have a shoulder, but it just isn't that busy compared to quite a bit of this course.  I think three cars pass me in seven miles.  The only issue I see with 42 is that it dumps you out a bit earlier on 36 and 36 into town is not a pleasant road, even from Carlisle.  Jon knows a way around most of this and said Sharon shared that road with him, so if I would ever ride this century again, I will have to ask him.

 

Anyway, once on 36 I see the group just climbing the rise to the bridge to go to Welch's.  I don't know if it is Fritz or the front group, but I have decided just to stop at the gas station as I am not the Welch's fan that many are.  Once there, I text Fritz telling him what I have done and not to worry about me.  I later learn that Fritz also took 42, so it must have been the first group I viewed. After eating, I receive a text from Jon checking on me.  I tell him what I have done and head out.  I will see no other riders the rest of the day other than Todd who passes me coming in to town while I stop to check the cue sheet.  

 

I think more of what Thomas Nance said last century about people riding for different reasons and realize I never did address it.  Instead I spoke about the different types of riding which, while they may be a reflection of why people ride, does not really address it.  I decide that over the years, I have ridden for different reasons, and I suspect that is true of most of us.   Riding can be about winning.  It can be about companionship or it can be about solitude.  It can be about keeping weight off or losing weight.  It can be about fitness and staying in shape.  It can be about challenging yourself and your body and it can be about disciplining your body and yourself.  And so much more.  The main point, I suppose, is not to disparage someone for the reason they ride.  We may not understand the why, but it is important to them, and we are all united in our love the bike.  

 

I can't tell you much about what happened to the group during the ride.  I understand that a couple of people thought the coffee at lunch was not very good while another thought it was "okay."  I can tell you that if you ordered roast beef  you were served quickly, but otherwise you waited.  I ended the ride alone, passed only by Todd near the end.  A surprise for me as I expected to end the season as the chubby anchor.   I can also tell you that the photos of Welch's at lunch made me rather jealous, but I still think I made the right decision for me at the time.  Still, it made me smile seeing the smiles on your faces.  Maybe that is the perfect ending for the tour, or as perfect as it can be.  You took the moment and made the best of it. Well done, Dogs. 

 

To those Dogs I don't see again before spring or ever, have a wonderful holiday season.  May it fill and caress you with love and warmth and happiness.  Thank you for riding.  Dream of the spring when the tour will start once again though.  Dream of bicycles, challenge yourselves,  and COME OUT AND PLAY!   

 

 

 

 

Ride Report on Seven Springs

"The magic of autumn has seized the 

countryside; now that the sun isn't

ripening anything it shines for the sake

of the golden age; for the sake of Eden; 

to please the moon for all I know."

Elizabeth Costsworth 

 

I have ridden Thomas Nance's Seven Springs Century only once before, but I distinctly remember two things about it:  it is hard, really hard with lots of tough climbs, and it is lovely, really lovely, rural, and quiet.  In other words, it is my favorite type of ride as well as a ride that scares me a bit.  I applaud Thomas on its creation and for his contribution to the TMD this year as a ride captain.  

 

 I remember it as one of those centuries that would be perfect for a leisurely solo century when it is not too hot and not too cold and there are enough daylight hours to just go slowly and stop randomly to take photographs and to absorb the surroundings.  But of course, I can't do that when it is someone else's ride.  At least the leisurely part.  It will seem leisurely to Thomas and to the other strong riders that ride with me for they are capable of more.   Indeed, it may stretch their patience, but for me it will be an effort to keep a pace that is not too embarrassingly slow for I age and I weaken as life spins relentlessly forward draining my muscles and ligaments of their flexibility and strength.  Life mocks all our efforts to rein it in.  But we don't have to yield gracefully though perhaps it would be easier to do so. 

 

 I suppose it would have been rather simple to talk myself out of riding.  I have not been on the bike much in the past couple of weeks. It is going to be a raw day weather wise with a chance of rain before the end of the ride.  I have my ten centuries and am an official finisher. I have chores that need to be completed before the holiday season arrives.  But mainly, I may find, as will inevitably occur at some point in  time , that I can't climb the hills and meet the challenges that a good ride always presents, that my legs and my heart fail me.  But how much of life we miss if we stop challenging ourselves?  The lines from "I Hope You Dance" come to mind: "May you never fear those mountains in the distance.  Never settle for the path of least resistance."  But I don't kid myself, I do have fear of the mountains and the pain they inevitably bring as my legs strain themselves to obey yet cry for mercy. I just don't allow that to stop me.  

 

Inevitably the thought of the ride seduces me with the promise of fall and the glories she reveals as she disrobes for her winter sleep, her sinuous colored skirt twirling in the breeze, flirting with the breeze, daring it to completely disrobe her.  She knows that even disrobed, there will be a stark, clearly defined beauty in the stretch of her limbs toward the sky and the way they sway in the winter winds, their beauty when topped with a light layer of snow. There will not be many more long rides now that I don't do century rides throughout the year.  The leaves are near their autumn peak painting the roadsides with a riot of color and beauty to where I want to weep with the ache of something I can't name and don't understand and can't name. 

 

Maybe most importantly, many of these people I will only see once or twice again this year only meeting again in the spring when bicycles are pulled out of basements, garages, and sheds as the earth gives birth, green tendrils and leaves emerging tentatively and shyly, becoming bolder as the spring progresses .  I don't know why, but I have a special fondness for those that ride the TMD, a shared closeness that seems unmerited and unanchored in reality, but is there nonetheless, a silent heartbeat of caring perhaps welded by the challenge of the tour and the challenges she throws at us.  It is not an easy task.   Feelings are not, however, always anchored in reality.  But I will miss those that don't come back out, or all of you if I decide not to ride the tour next year. 

 

I know it will be a small crowd as experience has taught me that the end of the season has a smaller riding pool.  And this, as I mentioned, is a challenging course, possibly the club's hardest century.  When I arrive, it is not quite daylight.   I am glad to see Thomas has already arrived as I am never quite comfortable in a city in the dark by myself.  Soon the others arrive.  Those that sign in are Thomas Nance, Jerry Talley, Fritz Kopatz, Bob Grable, Sharon Jeter, Glenn Smith, Dominic Wasserzug, Todd King (unsure of last name), Jon Wineland, Larry Preble, and myself.  (Jon Wineland signs in late and catches us as he calls Thomas saying he is caught in traffic.)

 

Todd King is wearing a Cincinnati jersey and I ask him about it.  He says he lives in Florence but is down visiting his girlfriend.  It is good to see Sharon is riding. It has been a pleasure this year having Sharon, another female, on the tour though her strength far exceeds my own and I can't keep up with her. Just knowing that I am not the only woman that loves these rides is somehow important to me, particularly now that I am in the slow group.  I think it is important for men to see strong women.  I see a van pulling in and know it is Glenn. Jerry comes to sign in with a huge smile on his face.  I briefly think that I hope nobody has to try to ride this course with their cable tied off as Jerry did not long ago.  Fritz has a smile on his face as well and has a look of anticipation that I recognize and feel kinship with. Dominic, the youngest I believe, is here. I notice he has lost weight and looks fit.  Bob signs in and goes to see if the nearby hotel will allow him to use the restroom there.  I think how much stronger and leaner he has gotten over the summer.   He has been staying back with me on many rides, but that is now through choice rather than necessity. And Larry, of course.  One can always depend upon Larry to be at a TMD stage if he possibly can.  And of course, when Larry attends there will be a wonderful photographic capture of the ride.  His love for the ride shining through the videos he puts together.  And Thomas, always so stalwart and trustworthy.  I know that even if he is a bit disappointed by a slow pace, his impatience will never show.  

 

 Everyone chats a bit and people take quick spins checking what they are wearing to see if they are warm enough without being too warm. They look at each other to determine what clothing others have chosen for the day. I, personally, discard my heavier rain jacket for a lighter one and later and quite glad I did so.   It has not been cold long enough to be completely sure how to dress, but at least there is not supposed to be a huge temperature range.  Still, I have ridden enough hilly courses to know that no matter how you dress, you will often feel sweaty and stifling hot on the climbs and then chilled to your bones on the descents.  I remind myself that I need to drink regularly, something that can become difficult on cold rides but fights off the inevitable dehydration of a century ride.    

 

When we take off, the riders stay together for most of the greenway, but then split quickly into two groups.   Bob and I end up riding together.  I ask where Thomas is as I don't think he is with the group that just took off.  Bob doesn't know either and I wonder if Thomas decided to wait for Jon.  We ride on for I know both Jon and Thomas could catch me even if I did my best to keep that from happening.  (Though I must note that there WAS one time when I beat Jon on a downhill on a Montgomery overnight;-)  Kind of like the time I beat Scott Kuchenbrod on a TMD time trial. (Scott got lost;-)

 

I am amazed at how quickly we leave the city behind, still a city though her streets are still quiet and mostly deserted in the early morning hours.   Bob talks about how hard the roads are leading to Blunk Knob and he is not wrong, but I am aware that Blunk will be challenging. Last year, however, I did not find it as challenging in reality as I had made it in my mind.  In the end, after we climb today, I decide that it is the length as much or more than any steepness that makes it challenging.   This ride not only has lots of climbs (22 per my Wahoo), but many are long climbs with a couple, including Blunk, being about two miles long.  As I climb, I try to think of my breathing and I remind myself that just last year I was surprised that the climb was not more difficult.  I try not to think that last year I was on my Lynskey, and I find I have no trouble of the Calfee either though I can't say the climb was easy.

 

Thomas catches us right before the climb  and tells us he was just leaving when Jon  pulled in so he stayed and signed him in.  Jon said he would catch us at the first store stop.  A group of four young men pass us on the climb, legs straining, breathing deep and powerful. At first I thought they might be with our group, but I quickly see that is not the case.  Nobody seems to know who they are, but they are strong riders.

 

When we reach the store stop, Jon has not yet caught us.  The first group is there, but not Larry.  They ask us about him and say he did not arrive at the store with them.  We did not pass him on the way.  It is then that my phone rings.  It is Larry saying he is not feeling well and has turned around.  I also call Jon but get no answer so leave a message before we take off hoping he is well and a tad worried that he has not yet caught us.    While I often ride alone and know others do to, there is always that chance of a fall or accident and nobody knowing.  But then, cycling is essentially a dangerous sport. One accepts that or one doesn't ride. 

 

There are so few cars on the road it is amazing.  Thomas stops to take a picture of a creek and I notice that the Sycamores are almost completely bare, their slender white limbs reaching out over the creek as if in supplication.  They have always been one of my favorites in the winter.  Colored leaves litter the road in places, like confetti and while I appreciate their loveliness, I also know that, when damp, they are the bane of a careless rider causing many a fall.  But these seem dry and rustle at our passage.  Groups of  maples dance in shades of yellow, orange, and red.  We round a corner surprising a rafter of turkeys who take wing, their bodies looking much to large too allow flight, yet fly they do.  At one point, Jon notices an eagle who appears to have been hit and killed by a car while feasting on a racoon that did not make it safely across the road.  The sun unexpected comes out on this stretch, a treat for the mind and the eyes after days of overcast, gray skies. It does not hold the warmth of summer, but it does hold warmth and gives a bright gayness to the leaves that they did not have when clouds dimmed their brightness. 

 

We reach the lunch stop and the front group is still there.  There is only one girl working the store and she is frantically trying to mind the cash register and make sandwiches.  She is frazzled but keeps a smile the entire time.  Everyone is patient with her knowing she is doing her best.  She forgets one sandwich, I can't remember whose, and rushes to make it. And the sandwiches she makes are filling and taste delicious.  One thing I miss in winter when I am not riding centuries is the taste of food when one is truly in need of it due to a demanding physical activity.  One tends to forget how good food can taste when every cell of your body needs replenishing and when you are sharing the moment with friends.

 

There is some discussion about the wind and Fritz jokingly says it will be at our backs from now on.  I tease him back saying that there are no more climbs either.  But the majority of the climbs are over with, and much of the wind is, thankfully, tail wind.  The fast group leaves and it is Jon, Bob, and Thomas riding with me. When we leave the store, the sun has yielded to the clouds.  We briefly talk about getting back before the anticipated rain hits. And it gets colder.  All of us notice it.  And I am glad I did not shed my jacket. 

 

When we reach the third store stop, we find the front group did not stop but Dominic is waiting for us.  I am really starting to feel tired, but I don't know that I could ever get enough of this scenery.  I do know that the last nine or ten miles promises to be relatively flat and I comfort my legs with that.  We sit briefly on the curb together preparing ourselves for the last thirty miles.  Suddenly those nine flatter miles seem a million miles away.  Does the body or mind quit first when riding?  Sometimes I think one way and sometimes the other though  I once heard that the mind tells us to quit long before we have to.  

 

I would like to tell you that I climbed all the hills without walking, and I suppose I did.  It was merely a small bump in the road that brought me off my bike when the shifting started clanking.  I worried that my bike was broken, but it was merely my shifting, or so I think.   Because almost all my bikes have different shifters on them, sometimes I make a mistake.  And I "THINK" that is what happened.  Regardless, it was user error and the bike was fine.  We joke for a bit about whether they should all get a point for stopping to help since they waited for me.   And then we hit another hill, a long hill with steep parts, and while I don't walk and don't need to walk, I can no longer keep up.  I have the endurance, just not the speed. And distance riding has taught me the importance of going my own pace. My legs are pumping and giving me what they can and I am riding, but the group fades in front of me and I know that I can't catch them or keep up with them.  

 

I round a corner and they are waiting.  Perhaps I should stop, but I don't.  I feel a sense of shame at my weakness and I don't want them to see it.  But I accept that it is the best that I can do at this time.  And I am here.  That has to be enough. They follow.  We stay together the rest of the ride though I know they could drop me without even trying.  The sun comes out again near the end, her warm embrace comforting me.  When we finish, the first group is long gone.   Our average is 13.3.  Climbing, depending upon GPS, was anywhere from 6,300 feet to over 8,000 feet.   I am satisfied with that even while being disappointed that I could not ride more quickly.  The sun has receded again.  We got in before rain, but on the drive home it will sprinkle.  It would have been a cold finish had we gotten caught.  

 

On the drive home, I ponder something that Thomas said at the end, that we all ride for different reasons.  I realize that is certainly true.  Some enjoy flat city riding.  Some enjoy riding in the country.  Some enjoy the challenge of a hard course.  Some enjoy an easy course. Some prefer centuries, some sixty mile rides, and some shorter rides.  But we are all bound together by our love of the bike and none of the options for riding seem to be wrong ones.  We are blessed with our health, those of us who ride, and blessed with having a club that supports and nourishes those rides.  For those I don't see until the spring, I hope your holidays are blessed with love and laughter. But I hope it is not a long winter.  I will miss you.  

 

FINISHING GROUPS:

 

Glenn Smith    4:08   group of 4

Fritz Kopatz    4:08    group of 4

Jerry Talley     4:08    group of 4

Sharon Jeter    4:08    group of 4

Thomas Nance    4:34      group of 5

Dominic Wasserzug  4:34     group of 5

Melissa Hall        4:34     group of 5

Bob Grable        4:34     group of 5

Jon Wineland    4:34    group of 5