Kentucky 200K 2018

"The old you has been left behind to leave

place for the new you.  And it will be a new

 you that your new friends will admire and that 

your old friends will struggle to understand and that

your true friends will learn to embrace."

Lauren Klarfeld

I have made my decision:  I will ride the brevet.  The weather prediction is ideal.  Steve Rice has said that if I will ride he will ride with me. As always, I worry that I will be a bother, a fear perhaps born of having three older brothers who viewed me more as a pest than a companion.  I warn him that I will ride slowly, that I will HAVE to ride slowly, but he says it is not an issue. Still, I do have mixed feelings.  New friends have another cycling adventure planned that sounds decidedly pleasant.  But I decide to challenge myself. My longest ride recently has been a very slow 67 miles the Monday before the brevet and the brevet is a long 200K running close to 138 miles, but if I remember it correctly it is not too terribly hilly.  RidewithGPS has it somewhere in the 6700 climbing range.  And I cling to words Packman told me many years ago about muscle memory.

I prepare carefully.  I don't want to use my carradice for a 200K, but I also want to have what I need.  The GPS is charged. One thing I have always struggled with is my Garmin.  I hate to admit it, but I am NOT technologically smart.  And to make matters worse, I seem to have been cursed with Garmin units that don't act like other peoples.  Steve Rice has the same model 605, but while his will accept a battery charger, mine, with the exact same battery charger,  will reset mileage to "0" while his does not. My Garmin Edge Touring, however, tested earlier this week, appears to be okay if I  just hit not to turn off a few times, its reaction when I attempt to use a battery charger.  And calling Garmin for help, that has proven useless on numerous occasions about numerous issues. Sometimes I think I am just stupid, but the new me realizes that it is okay if I am. It is just the way things are.  I can't change it.  And I have my strengths.  Including children who both are technologically gifted.   Perhaps their father?  I briefly think of how often we judge people on the basis of things they can't help feeling pride in abilities or inclinations that we were born with and did nothing to earn or deserve, as Shakespeare noted, strutting on our stage. 

Tools have been placed a plastic baggie and are in my handlebar bag.  Wheels have been inflated. Clothes are laid out with extras in my suit case to allow for variation depending upon how I feel when I get there.  I have sent my daughter an e-mail asking that she keep her phone nearby in case I need her to rescue me.  Lights, while I doubt I will need them for very long, are charged and packed. No need for a hub generator for this ride. A spare tire, tubes, and all those minor accessories are in place.  Water bottles and a coffee mug for the drive are placed where I won't forget them. I realize that I have forgotten to pack my reflective gear, but I realize it before it is too late and pack it.  And once packed, it is off to bed early. It is easier to sleep when everything is prepared ahead of time.

I leave home in the dark to make the drive to the ride start and look for the light in the motel room window when I arrive so I know which room to sign in at.  There seem to be few cars when I get there, but I have arrived a bit early having awakened early following a restless night.  Tim Argo is there and I realize it has been a while since I have seen him.  He welcomes me back with a grin.  I like the crinkles around his eyes:  they speak of good humor.  While I don't know him well,  he has always seemed to me to be a kind person, and there is a lot to be said for kindness.  Steve Rice, of course, is also there.  Alex Mead has moved so won't be riding and Todd is in South Carolina. Dave King, per Steve, has an injury from mountain biking and won't be here. The only other rider I recognize is Steve Royse.  It is good to see him when he arrives and I think that I have never seen him look so slim and fit.  Life obviously is agreeing with him.  Another man reminds me that we rode a bit together on the Virginia 1000.  I think, briefly, as I have so often in the past how those who ride brevets have some crazy thing in common that draws them.  Later in the ride I will tell Steve, "We are not normal people."  And that is true.  Not a bad thing.  Not a good thing.  Just an observation. Perhaps a little strutting of my own.  Normal people do not blithely go out for a 137 mile ride on a cold March day however sunny it is with little to no base miles.

I sign in and go back out into the cold to ready my bike.  Unlike the normal Kentucky 200K, the weather appears to be a bit chilly, but really quite comfortable.  No rain is predicted and the wind is only supposed to be around 10mph.  I later tell Steve that I would not have ridden if the prediction were for rain and strong wind and sleet as in the past, but I also tell him that I realize that those were the conditions that best helped us for the longer, harder brevets such as the 2007 PBP.  I still remember Bill Pustow encouraging me saying, "Weep in the dojo, laugh in the battle field."  Today will not be easy, but that is due to my lack of training, not due to the course or the weather.  This will not be one of those epic rides that you remember because you persevered, but hopefully it will be one of the ones I remember because of the companionship or the funny things that always seem to happen along the way on a long ride.

We start off at a pace that is a bit faster than I feel I should go, but not unreasonable so I just go with it and I find I can hold my own.  I know that however much I enjoy the first of the ride, toward the end I will most likely be more than ready for the ride to end.  I am a bit overdressed, but not to the point where I have to regularly shed clothing throughout the day.  I try to take a drink, but the nozzles on my water bottles are frozen shut.  With some effort, I finally manage to budge one enough to take a gulp of water with tiny flecks of ice floating in it.  Perhaps it is colder than I realized, I think as my throat begins to fell a bit swollen and raw.  I pull my balaclava up to cover my mouth and feel better almost immediately, but if I keep it up too high, my glasses fog.

Steve and I have already started our political discussion and bantering each of us knowing that we will never agree on most issues and each of us, perhaps, stretching our views just a bit in order to teasingly annoy the other.  He finds it unbelievable that I am against bump stock rifles and semi-automatic weapons when I don't have a good grasp of what they are or how they operate.  I merely tell him that I believe nobody needs those weapons that have been used in the slaughter of innocents and I don't have to understand exactly what they are or their firing mechanisms.  Guns for hunting and guns for home protection are different, perhaps, but fast firing weapons manufactured only for killing people do not sit well with me outside the hands of the military.  Our political bantering continues throughout the ride and I think how much I value having a friend where we can disagree over significant things, but still be friends.  I don't think he is right, but I realize he "could" be right.  I have been wrong many, many times in my life.  Sometimes I am not sure why or even how we became friends, a rather unlikely pair,  but I am glad we did.  Like so many of the friends I have known throughout the years, he has enriched my life immeasurably and I hope I have added something to his as well. 

I am surprised at how quickly the miles go and that the pace, while not blistering by any means, is modest.  I tell him to go on if he would like, but he doesn't. Because he has not been training either or because he is keeping his word....don't know.  Later, not only because I have company to take my mind off my aching neck, the results of an accident a few years ago, and my sore rear, I am deliriously happy over this when my Garmin won't accept the charger as it did on the practice run and eventually dies.  I ask him if he knows why it would work one time and not the other.  The only differences I can come up with is that on my practice run:  a.  I was not using it on a programmed route, and b. I had it plugged in when the battery read 90 per cent and today I waited until 60 per cent.  It appears I am cursed. Back to the drawing board.  Steve said he really doesn't know and so I will have to try again on practice rides from home.

Later we ride with another rider, I believe his name was Sam, who is very happy with his Garmin, but I have decided on going with Wahoo when I buy again.  Greg Smith, whose opinion I trust, said he believes I will be able to master it and that he prefers it, and Roger Bradford has said their customer service is out of the world nice.

During the ride, I don't notice the scenery as I would if I were riding alone, but in Carrolton the recent flooding of the Ohio River is evident. The water has receded, but evidence of its power remains. Water still remains in places where it does not normally stay, the earth saturated and littered, given more than it can possibly absorb.  Odd how the very things that we need to sustain us can also be our ruination.  Steve points out the structure I sent him a picture of when I was asking if he was sure we would not run into flooding on the route.  I see a hawk flying with a small animal dangling from her/his mouth, alighting on a nest of branches, and I wonder if mating season has begun for birds.  The earth is greening from the warmer weather and because of or in spite of the flooding.  Spring is not here yet, but harbingers of her coming are everywhere:  daffodils pushing up but not  yet blooming, trees budding but  not yet leafed out.  The fields are hungry for plowing.  Birds fly and everywhere everything and everyone seems ready.

When we reach the turn around, we stop for a quick bite to eat and I concentrate for a moment on how I feel.  I am tired, but not unreasonably so for the miles and climbing.  My rear is sore, but I know I have many more miles I can pedal before having to give in.  My phone has been ringing and I know that it is my cousin wanting to finalize our meal plans for the following day, but I decide not to return the calls until the ride is over, afraid of forgetting.  Long rides have always somewhat affected my thinking, but now that I am older, I can definitely tell my cognitive abilities, already rather limited,  are slipping even when I am not riding.   It is scary, but what is the use of worrying about it when there is nothing to be done except to devise as many countermeasures as you can. I think briefly about how age has brought me much more compassion and understanding of what I saw  my mother and others go through, and I hope that I can face the changes wrought by age as gracefully and as skillfully.

At the last store stop, I see Steve get a Red Bull to drink.  I realize that I have never had one of these energy drinks, that I am actually a bit afraid of them.  I am the same with ibuprofen.  I could count the times I have had ibuprofen on a ride on one hand.  I remember Steve Royse laughing at me about it once saying it helps the pain, but I suppose I always felt I wanted to know when I was hurting so that I could judge how bad the pain was when my pain was from an activity that could, if necessary, be stopped. After the ride, that is a different story.  But I don't want to do more damage to myself than I realize I am doing though I had intended to bring some on this ride for my neck, so perhaps I lie to myself as people often do. When Steve has a mechanical a short time afterward, I do take a gel.  Luckily, the mechanical, handlebars that shifted position, is easily corrected with Sam's star tool (Sam, sorry if I have your name wrong), and we are on our way.

To my surprise, the end actually comes pretty quickly. I thrill at the sight of a large flock of crows swirling in the air as we near the end. We get in around 11 hours, by no means my fastest time but fast enough to make the time limit and leave some change.  It is still light outside.  And oddly enough, I am not completely shot.  While I have no desire to, I could ride more if required. We sign in and I take a picture of my card for my health insurance meanwhile cursing how things have changed in that arena. I am asked about the 300K and say that I am not sure.  Steve assures the person who asked that I will ride, but he is more confident than I am, particularly if the weather is bad or if I can't figure out how to make my Garmin last the duration of the ride for I truly do not like being dependent or a bother, even upon a friend.  Seeing pictures of the sights on the other ride, I do have a moment of regret, but I think the decision to ride the brevet was the right one for the time.  And soon, with retirement looming, I will have more time to ride and more time to spend with friends and hopefully to develop more friends.  Friends, they are a blessing, one of life's marvels and comforts, and I hope that all the different friends continue to embrace me as I grow and change.  

Kentucky 200K Brevet 2016

"The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; 

he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me.  The

rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to

fit them." 

George Bernard Shaw

I have vowed I am NOT going to ride the brevets this year if the weather is bad, but the forecast does not look so very awful.  There is a 20 per cent chance of rain.  So I prepare my bike, but not so carefully as I would if there were, say, a 50 per cent chance of rain and if, say, I intended to ride no matter the weather.  I know the start will be cold, near freezing, but it is supposed to warm up near fifty degrees.  If it does rain, surely it will not rain for long.  Not my favorite riding temperature, but bearable if one is dressed appropriately. So I am surprised when I wake up, spend time convincing myself that I really don't want to go back to bed with a cup of coffee, a purring cat,  and a good book, open the door to take my bike and put it in the car and find a steady drizzle.    I suppose that what I am trying to say is that right now in a very roundabout way is that I am struggling with whether I want to continue to participate in brevets or if century rides are enough.

I am trying to find joy in things that meant something to me once, like looking in the face of an old lover searching eyes for a hint of a former attraction,  but I am not the same me anymore and I don't know if I can put the pieces that were shattered back in the same order.  Time, loss, and experience has changed me as it has us all.  Or perhaps it is that I no longer wonder if I can do it and wonder is no longer part of the equation.  Worse, perhaps I worry that I can't do it anymore, and not trying and failing would be more difficult perhaps than just taking a step backward.    

I have registered for the Colorado 1200 to try to motivate myself, but I don't yet know if it will work.  Yes, I definitely would like to see Colorado for I have never been there.  At times I am excited about it, and think of how to prepare.  But do I want to see it on a brevet or as a different, more relaxing and less taxing way when effort and sleep deprivation have not robbed me of some of the appreciation of the scenery whispers through my mind. The traditional nightmares....getting hopelessly lost, having a serious mechanical....wind through my thoughts despite my telling myself that these are minor matters.  It is not like I will perish in the middle of the wild wilderness that is Colorado if any of these things happen.  It is, after, 2016 and not 1816.

On the way to the brevet, I think of turning around as the rain continues.  "How does Steve do it," I ask myself.  "What are the probabilities that he can pick another day for the Kentucky brevet series where it rains?"  Because of my indecision about even driving there, sans rain, I am a bit late at the start.  When everyone leaves the parking lot, I still am deciding what to wear and what to carry, but I am not far behind.  I know how it goes anyway.  Everyone will pedal as if they are going to finish with the top group, and the majority will not be able to keep the pace.  When I register, Bill and Steve assure me that the weather man just said the rain was "out of here."  Typically, I believe them and end up doing something I might otherwise not do.  You would think that after awhile I would wise up.  Guess the old adage is true:  "There is no fool like an old fool." 

The rain continues, a cold steady drizzle.  Initially I think I am overdressed, but as the rain continues and I gradually become damp, that damp that I can never figure out if it is from rain and my raincoat isn't keeping me as dry as it might or if it is from sweat or if it is a combination of the two, I realize that I am probably dressed just right unless it turns colder.  Of course, I assure myself, if it turns colder it will become snow.  And I always carry my emergency poncho which would do in a pinch.  I pass the spot where, for some reason, I remember Susan and I stopping to put on our reflective gear on a brevet years ago.  Sometimes I wonder what makes us remember the moments that we do and forget others. 

On the way to the first control, Bill has chain issues.  I turn around when I see he is off the road, but he tells me to go on and so I do.   Being a woman, I wonder as I ride whether he really meant for me to go on or whether he was just saying that because he thought he should.  Overthinking again, I tell myself.  I try to ride hard, but at a pace that I will be able to maintain to the end or near the end.  At the first control, Steve Rice tells me the rain is supposed to get worse before he pulls out.  I complain to Steve Mauer who said he thought I liked rain.  And sometimes I do, but not today and not when it is cold despite the fact that these two conditions probably end up helping me complete this course more quickly than normal. Today I am fighting the depression of a recent anniversary that never was, that never saw life.  Today I am fighting my lack of control over things.  Today I need sun and brightness and happy thoughts. 

His words, however, do help me to see the some of the beauty around me, at least for a brief time.  The rain persists until after the turnaround, at one point becoming so stinging that I wonder if I will need to stop to protect my eyes.  I have never really found a good eye glass solution for very rainy days.  The brim of my cap helps, but glasses just don't stay dry and seem more of a problem than blurry vision.  I am concentrating so hard and looking so inward, that I almost miss the secret control.  Mark hollers, "Where are you going?"  Fortunately for me, I recognize his voice, for normally when men yell at me I put my head down and pedal harder, afraid that they are a threat.  Cat calls, whistles, and yells from strangers just have always struck me that way, rightly or wrongly, cause for concern rather than something that brightens and lifts and attracts. Pedal, pedal faster, take control.  I fight this instinct, turn around and have my card signed before continuing onward.  The world just seems more dangerous now that he is gone.

Daffodils promise to bloom and to make this a lovely ride for the 300.  The route winds along the Kentucky river and by creeks and everywhere there is the sound of the water that will turn this into a paradise of green lushness in the coming spring.  Spring provokes and tantalizes, but will play the tease for a few more weeks I fear, until I can barely stand it and think I will explode if she does not show me herself in all her glory.

At the turn around, I quickly down some fried chicken and a biscuit, then head out before my chilling becomes worse.  Chilling is, I know, the enemy.  Wool and my rain coat will keep me warm enough, but only if I keep moving.  My gloves are so wet that I need to wring them out before I put them back on.  Normally I carry spare gloves and socks to change into mid way or if rain stops, but I really had not expected this.  I am glad I had the foresight to put on my bar mitts.  I remain amazed at the warmth they provide for my hands.   I dream for miles of a bath tub filled with hot, steamy water and the delicious scent of lavender and how I will soak until every joint in my body is seeped through with warmth. I dream of warm, stretchy pajamas and furry slippers and the afghans I keep on the couch to snuggle in on winter evenings.  I think of other things, of course, and puzzle over things that have been said to me, like the girlfriend who told me that the local men are scared to death of me, something I need to ask about because I totally don't understand.  Or of where I want to go on my bike this year other than Colorado.  Of what I will do if I don't ride the series and qualify and if there is enough of the old me in the new me to even be bothered by it. 

Dustin is at the store stop, and I see him shivering, but he said he is not going to eat until the next stop and that he is not leaving the store until it stops raining.  I leave hoping for his sake as well as mine that the rain stops soon, and it eventually does, but not for many miles.  I curse the weather man in my mind.  "Twenty percent chance of rain, my ass," I think.  And I wonder briefly if God and my husband are up in heaven laughing at me, thinking what a silly predictable person I am and knowing that this was where I was meant to be.  The depression I had sunk into since our wedding anniversary last week has receded.  I am tired, bone weary at the end.  My right knee hurts.  But I am alive. And life is what is and what is missing is missing and won't return.  But life is pretty darned good sometimes.

The rain eventually stopped, one of the two main obstacles on this course.  The cold never did.  I don't believe it got much above the low forties the entire day.  There was, however, and I am thankful for this, little wind.   Actually, all considered, it was a fairly easy brevet for Kentucky. I don't know how many finished, how many states were represented this year.  This brevet was a mostly solitary ride as my life is mainly a solitary life now.  But it is okay and I am okay and things are always changing. Perhaps next year it will be dry.  Change, after all, while inevitable, is also not always a bad thing. 

The Kentucky 200K Brevet 2015

"We experience a discomfort that may be foreign

to others, but that pain opens up a world of beauty."

Craig Thompson

It is frigidly cold and has been, temperatures ranging 20 degrees below normal for this time of year per the news weather people.  Indeed, one day last week, the temperature was 15 degrees BELOW zero when I left for work.  And while tomorrow is not predicted to be that cold, it is supposed to be in the teens at the start.  Where is spring and what foreign world have I been transported into where gray and snow seem to be eternal and without surcease?

I debate whether to face the cold and ride or to grab a bottle of wine, stay home, cry and feel sorry for myself, and burrow more deeply into my grief.  Sometimes the only way out is to go further down first.  A feeling must be fully felt and experienced in order to be freed.  Burial is a stopgap leaving worms festering that will break free or warp. And it will be my wedding anniversary the day of the 200K.  Lastly, I am leaning toward not going to PBP as it seems a shame to spend that much money on something that I might not yet be able to enjoy.  In other words, I have no real, compelling reason to ride and face the cold.

  

A melancholy grin crosses my face as I remember how my husband tried to trick me into marrying him on February 29th  the year we wed. The night before we married, he stayed up all night after getting home from work installing new carpet as my mother was going to see our home for the first time.  I decide to wait and see how I feel in the morning before making up my mind.  As my grief therapist has pointed out, I can always start the ride and turn around at any time. She reminds me that nobody can tell me how long or how to grieve or what the right way to grieve is because no shoe fits every foot and there is no right way.  I just know that I am exhausted most of the time and that every day seems to be an effort, and I don't expect tomorrow to be any different.  She assures me that there will once again come a day when I will spring out of bed with anticipation, to give myself time.

I decide not to clean my bike as with the melting snow and ice it will only get dirty again, but I grease the chain and put on one of the tail lights I got for Christmas.  I decide not to use the hub generator as I hope to finish well before dark, but I add a couple of smaller headlamps just in case.  One never knows, and I am certainly out of shape and have put on a lot of weight since December.  I check to make sure I have my reflective gear and pack all sorts of winter gear in case I change my mind about what to wear when I get there. Once in bed, I remember that I have not packed Vaseline to grease my face for protection from the cold.  I know that I will be sorry if I forget it, but I just can't wrest myself out of the warm cocoon to go find and pack it. 

As it turns out, I awaken early and can't fall back asleep, so I decide to head out.  I remember to find and place the Vaseline in my bag. It is in the teens at the start, and while I decide to dispense with my wool long johns, I have layers on top to where I feel like a finger push might topple me over. Twenty riders are registered for the ride, nineteen of them men.  Of the twenty, four do not show.  Of the sixteen left, three DNF.  So, out of twenty people, only seven have the good sense not to spend the entire day out in the frigid cold riding a bicycle because of God only knows what psychological aberration or need.

Because of the cold, there is little of the normal pre-ride parking lot conversation whispering through the air.  A few hellos are exchanged, but not much other than that.  But there are head lights and tail lights and the clicks of derailleurs during those last minute checks.  And all too soon, or perhaps with the cold, not soon enough, we are off.  My hands tingle and I hope I don't spend the whole day in discomfort, but there you are.  When you put on weight and don't ride your bike and you add that it is COLD, can you expect not to be uncomfortable?  But soon the rhythm and the gentle exercise warms me.

During the first of the ride, or actually throughout the ride, I must admit that I keep asking myself why I am out here.  I wish I could tell you that I enjoyed this ride, that I didn't cry at times throughout the ride, that  memories did not rise up and threaten to overwhelm me when I rode alone or even when I rode with others.  I wish I could tell you that I did not consider turning around at or before the first control and particularly right after the first control following the descent on Devil's Hollow where the wind took advantage of every nook and cranny gaining entrances in unexpected places and chilling me to the very bone.  I can't.  But I can tell you that despite the hellishness of the descent, it was strikingly beautiful with icicles lining the sides of the descent and snow intensifying the stark outlines of the branches of the trees on the hillside.  And I can tell you that I finished with Tony, Tim, and Scott dragging me along the last of the ride, particularly on the hills when each additional pound means additional seconds and additional effort.  And I can tell you that parts of the route and the snow covered terrain were beautiful, breathtakingly so. Pain does, indeed, open a world of beauty at times.

And the weather, while cold, is a gift in this accomplishment as well.  There is wind, but not a strong wind.  There is not a great deal of temperature variation so there is  no need for additional stops to add and subtract layers.   This is not an "epic" ride as so many of the Kentucky brevets have been:  no rain, sleet, hail, and strong wind.  It is merely cold, and you can dress for cold if you spend the money and have the right gear. 

 But despite the fact that this was not an "epic" ride, it was a painful ride due to my poor conditioning. And I will remember this ride. I will remember this brevet because for me I think it was a good choice, one of many and one of few in a long line of the choices that determine the course that our lives take.  And I will remember the kindness of those that could have ridden off and gotten out of the cold earlier, who I urged to ride on more than once but didn't, but rather stayed and kept me company, even engendering a few smiles that were made with more than my lips.  I will remember the warmth of a hug by a friend at the end of the ride, a comfort that I really miss.  Thanks to everyone who made this  happen and helped me through this most difficult of days.  

Now as to the 300K, it is looking doubtful, but who knows.  Like childbirth, the pain of a brevet tends to diminish in the mind with the passage of time until only the accomplishment of completion remains. 

"No one is useless in this world who lightens

the burdens of another."  Charles Dickens