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 200 K Brevet 2014

"Sometimes you can't let go of the past without

facing it again."  Gail Tsukiyama

And so it begins again, a new brevet series, a new year.  I had  hoped to prepare better, but the ice and snow and life in general kept stepping in the way.  One would think after all these years, I would accept it more easily.   I know it is going to hurt today.  I know this course.  No, I could not ride it without a cue sheet or the course markings, but I remember the way it made me feel, the difficulties and the triumphs, the times I despaired of ever surviving to make it to the end and the times I hammered at the pedals as if I were invincible.  Despite the prediction for the best weather that there has ever been for this brevet, I hold no illusion that it will be easy despite being only 130 miles.  Beyond the  lack of sufficient training, I have been ill this week with a stomach virus.  2.5 days of work lost as well as five to six pounds, and I still can't eat without feeling nauseous. I feel weak and I have not even started. I grin wanly wondering if this could be a psychological illness that has translated to physical.  It was a stomach bug that kept me from the 300K last year.  Do I grow too old, soft, and infirm to face the challenges? 

Yes, I know today will be difficult.  What I did not reckon on were the memories it would evoke, memories that reek of change and time, and the grieving they would evoke, the yearning for another chance to live those days with those  people for a few more minutes, to grab tight to more of the memories, to let them know that I love them, that I miss them, that they formed and molded me, that without them the experiences would have been less vivid and meaningful.  For there are those moments in brevets that stand out, that are etched in memory forever,  the moment when you almost give in and overcome, the moment when you feel like you could ride forever and be forever young and strong, the moment when a friend saves your bacon or you eat the wind for a friend.  And for a moment or two I wonder if this is a good-bye brevet ride, for there is no need denying that will eventually happen.  The question is, like so many last time experiences,  will I know in advance or will it  just happen.  Will I wake up one day and just have no motivation or lack the ability to ride?  Will it be ended by a fall or a texting driver? But perhaps I just need to remember these things one last time to finally let them go and relegate them to the graveyard of memory. To say good-bye to those that no longer ride and to decide if I want to ride alone or seek out new companions. For as Gibran says, "Life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday."

With feeling so queasy inside, I do not look for nor particularly want company on this ride. I know I would be a poor companion. And unlike many people, I have found that I really do not mind riding alone much of the time. My primary goal, despite carrying lights, is to make it back before darkness blankets the world.  I know I must ride my own pace not pushing myself but not slowing to the point where the ride seems interminable as brevets sometimes do, particularly those last miles when all one can think about is a hot bath or shower, food, and a warm bed.

Would it be strange to say that one of my favorite things about brevets is the ending of it, the feeling when you take off your bicycling shoes and put on your regular shoes and your toes seem to have so much wiggle room, the relief for your bottom  when it no longer has to sit precariously balanced on a slab of leather and it sinks into a cushion, the tranquilizing smell of shampoo and soap and the water washing the crusty salt crystals from your skin until you feel as slippery as an eel and as soft as a foal's nose and you smell like an angel.  The aroma of food and knowing that you earned it and your body needs it to replenish what it has spent that day.  Clean pajamas, slippers, the way the sheets feel so silky and smooth and cool and the bed cuddles you for a well deserved rest.  The softness of pillows. The way your bed smells of home and safety and comfort.  The way the thoughts of the day swirl through your mind as you lay in bed waiting for sleep to claim  you. All these things and more I appreciate in a new way from riding brevets and century rides.  Enough cannot be said about the man or woman who invented hot, running water.  He or she is my hero.

Early in the brevet I run into one of those people who seems to think that because you are a woman, they have to stay in front of you, or that is how it appears.  I pass, he passes and slows down, I pass, he speeds up and passes and slows down, I pass, he passes.  I really don't care if he is in front or behind, but evidently he does or he would not yo-yo his pace so. Or perhaps it is my imagination.   I just wish he would make up his mind though I must admit that for a moment I wish I were as strong as Melinda Lyons and I could soundly spank him leaving him behind to eat my dust.  I spend a few moments thinking about what it must be like to be as strong on the bicycle as she is and to have such a gift, but I also know that while it is a gift, it is a gift that must have been nourished by hard work and effort.  And I cultivate thanks that I am able to be out here and that I am as strong as I am, that I am me. Eventually he pulls in front, and as I suspect, much later down the road he spits it out and falls behind spent by his early energy spurts.  He would have been better served by a steady effort, but that is something that comes with experience, something  he appears to lack.  If he continues to ride brevets, down the road he will spank me soundly, leaving me and my bike in the dust, but not today, not until he learns the lessons that you learn on the road about how to survive and move forward and endure.  In a sense brevets are like life in that aspect, you survive and move forward dealing with obstacles as they appear and thankful when there are no obstacles. You persevere and endure putting one foot in front of each other as the bicycle wheels turn. There is a certain beauty in that. And you learn what works for you and what does not work so well.

It is before the first control that I am jolted back in time to one of my first Kentucky 200K rides.  It was on this course.  I was in a pace line and trying to hold on knowing it would be more difficult making my way on my own, still concerned about getting lost despite the markings, still concerned about being alone.  I was, however, on call and the phone went off.  I lost the pace line as I stopped to respond, and with the lost pace line I lost my confidence.  Tim Creamer happened to come by, so strong and so kind.  He, a stranger to me, pulled me back up to the pace line never asking me to take a pull,  but by then I was shot, thus learning the lesson that the young man mentioned above learned today:  pacing, pacing, pacing.  I survived, but the rest of the brevet was ridden alone and was not kind.

When I reach the first control today, I know I must eat.  I force myself to down a little something and to drink.   I will have nausea the rest of the ride, just as I have had for days whenever I eat something.  I am riding alone and take off alone.  Jody and Steve catch me and Jody momentarily crushes me saying that I left my pack back at the store as I think she meant I had left my wallet or something from my bike.  It would be too cruel to have to do the extra miles to return for a forgotten item.  I don't feel well, damn it.  As it turns out, she thought I had been riding with the group that was still at the control and I had left nothing behind, but for a moment I considered throwing in the towel.  The thought of returning to the control and then coming back is just too much to bear today. There is also the  thought of Oregon Road and the steep climb there.  Long climbs are not so hard on me, but the steep ones hurt.  I think of walking the climb, but decide to wait and see.  Hurt pride or hurt muscles, which will mean more today? Sometimes walking a hill can help one make it to the finish line more quickly than fighting ones way upward. I envision doing this brevet in the past, and a companion begging me not to tell  that they had walked the hill, telling me that they are amazed that a woman "my age" could climb the hill (and I was much younger then).  And before you know it I am at the top and realize that it was not such a big hill after all.  But then, I used my triple, something I normally try to avoid. 

It is then I think of Grasshopper and Claudia riding this course with me.  It must have been the 300 or 400 as when we got to the end, there was a train that had broken down on the tracks about three to four miles from the end.  Cars were backed up for a mile or so.  We were afraid to cross with our bikes as the train might start to move at any moment, but all we could think about was the end.  I think of another time when Grasshopper and Bill were riding the course with me and the way the sleet looked, sliding sideways in the strong wind lighted only by our meager bicycle lights, savagely beautiful.  I thought about how I believed I would surely go mad that day with the relentless sound of the wind in my ears, roaring until it seemed it was just me and the wind, conversation or communication an impossibility.  Three souls combined in an effort to reach a goal, heads down, legs straining against the wind and pedaling, determined to make it to the end.  And I think of the lunar eclipse we experienced and the glorious beauty that abounds and so often lost if one is not in the middle of it one a bicycle.  Mostly I think of how I loved them then and I love them now, that somehow during that ride we became, for just a moment, a part of each other.

By the turn around, I know I am in serious trouble when I can only eat 1/4 of a bologna sandwich before I begin dry retching.   Just the thought of food sickens me, and my stomach feels like a cauldron of hot soup bubbling deep inside.  Momentarily I think of calling my daughter, but I decide to move on.  I am joined by a young man riding his first brevet and his light conversation temporarily pulls me out of my own misery.  After all, I reason, it is only 130 miles, not so very far.  And I would like to ride the Maryland 1000K this fall. To do that I need an entire series.  I can sleep tonight.  And eventually I will be able to eat.  And there is a positive side.  I don't have to stop to use the bathroom all day, a problem sometimes for a woman on a brevet.  Dehydration takes care of that for me. 

The climb up the other side of Oregon is challenging, longer but not as steep.  The scenery, despite the lack of color, is stunning with slender trees raising bare limbs heavenward.  Icicles still spiral downwards, seeping from the cracks between the rocks that line the hill in places.  And I imagine what it will be here like when it is green and hot outside and spring flowers litter the ground.  I think of climbing Oregan with Mike and Scott on Mike's double century one year and the stunningly gorgeous moth we came upon near the top of the climb and how its beauty stunned the three of us.  My companion praises the roads Steve Rice has chosen for the course and the lack of traffic other than when we are surfacing for a control.  And he is right.  Except for a few miles into and out of controls, the roads are rural and lightly traveled. 

Not long after the climb, Thomas catches us and the three of near the third control.  Thomas takes off and I decide to hold onto him knowing I must force myself to eat something calorie laden.  It is nice to have someone take the pull and I drift along in his wake for quite some time before taking my own turn eating the wind.  And I realize that with my new company I have lost my company from the past brevets:  Claudia, Grasshopper, Bill, Steve, Dave, Mike, and others fade and hover only in the background of my consciousness.  That is until the third control when Tim Carroll joins me.  As if it were yesterday I see him sitting on the floor at the control, worn out by his efforts conquering the course on a fixed gear, his colorless face a twin to my own, waiting for company in the long dark busy stretch that must be ridden to get back to the country roads.   Even in my weariness, I remember seeing the humor in his waiting, as if I could ever keep his pace, fixed gear or not. And I ask myself how many of these damned brevets I have ridden.  I force down two Little Debbie donut sticks and a sprite, and my stomach again rebels cramping and making itself into a giant fist that will clench and unclench the rest of my journey.

Again leaving the past behind, Thomas and I take off to finish this thing off.  He is riding strongly and I urge him to feel free to ride ahead.  But he does not.  And I realize that this is how many of my friendships have started, with my pushing away and someone pushing, ever so slightly though not intrusively, back. While I am glad for that, and the beginning of perhaps a new friendship, I also realize that  my time alone earlier in the ride has allowed me to face and re-live some of my past brevet moments.  And friendships are hard for me for whatever reason.  Claudia is much younger than me, and now much stronger than I.  Years will eventually out and there is no way I could hold her pace.  Grasshopper no longer rides and I mourn the loss of his gentle companionship and humor.  And my relationships with the others are ever changing, taking on new tones and hues that will either cause them to grow or wither because that is the nature of time and relationships.  Time will tell the directions they take.  But I am not quite sure I will ever completely let go of them, or that I will even want to completely let go them for they have given a richness to my life and experiences that I might otherwise have missed.  What I mustn't do is let them keep me from moving forward, from making new friendships and riding companions.

Thomas and I end the brevet together, pulling into the final control and getting our cards signed and turned in.  Another Kentucky 200K in the books.  And now there are new experiences that I will want to keep and remember.  Perhaps the 300 will be easier for me.  Perhaps it won't. Either way, I hope I have the courage to ride it, and I hope I have new experiences and make more memories. For as L. M. Montgomery said, "Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it."  And I do remember.

The Kentucky 200K Brevet 2013

"The most sacred place dwells within our heart, where dreams are 

born and secrets sleep, a mystical refuge of darkness and light,

 fear and conquest, adventure and discovery, challenge and 

 transformation. Our heart speaks for our soul every moment while 

we are alive. Listen... as the whispering beat repeats:

 be...gin, be...gin, be...gin.

 It's really that simple. Just begin... again. "
Royce Addington 

 Yet again it is the start of a new brevet season, and yet again the weather prediction will enhance the difficulties of starting the season rather than lightening the load.  It will be cold and there will be wind. But that, my friend, is what brevets are about, at least in Kentucky in early March:  defying weather and adversity unless the weather is downright dangerous, not just demanding.  Brevets are and should be demanding.  Otherwise what sense of accomplishment would there be.  Yet brevets also yield to different abilities, time limits are forgiving, and almost anyone with normal health can train and successfully complete a 200K.  

Steve Rice never disappoints with his Kentucky routes.  They are always demanding but beautiful. In a sense, the cold temperature prediction with no major variation in temperature makes things easier than if there were going to be a 10-20 degree temperature climb.  You can stay dressed the entire day the way you dress at the start of the ride with nothing to carry, no extra weight other than winter pounds that have not yet been ridden off, and no extra bag to take along to put things in.  The main challenge, of course, is dressing right to begin with so that you are not overly hot or overly cold.

It always interests me to listen to my heart the night before a brevet. Sometimes it is teeming with excitement and anticipation, but at other times there is dread and an empty, flat feeling as I question if I truly want to brave the road and the elements yet again and if I have prepared adequately.   This evening I am thrilled to find my heart anticipating the ride tomorrow: a new route, possibly some new roads, and some new challenges.  I sing softly to myself as I prepare my clothing, my lights,  and my bike so I can get out the door easily in the morning and give myself the maximum amount of sleep possible while still arriving timely. 

I suppose I will never understand why some days I relish the thought of the challenge and other days it is only  stern self-discipline and self-castigation that gets me out the door as I would much rather cower indoors and dream of spring.  Periodically those rides that I dread become a pleasure, but normally they are a mental training arena that helps me to accomplish goals I set for myself. On non brevet days I give myself permission to return home after 10 to 15 miles if I don't feel better, and normally I find myself enjoying myself once I have pushed myself out the door,  but not on brevet days. In the end it is as Mr. Addington says, you just need to begin. After all, who knows what adventure or drama will fill our day if we only get out the door. Or, as a friend recently reminded me, sometimes life is just about continuing to put one foot in front of the other. In a brevet it can sometimes be about just turning the crank over again and again.

When I arrive I realize how splendid it is to see familiar faces, some club members and some not.  I see friends less often in the winter as there are fewer rides.   It is also good to see faces I don't know, but may get to know in the future for every sport needs continual renewal to thrive. I can't think of any of these people that I would know if it were not for my bicycle.  We are brought together by our love of the bike and our admiration for endurance, the quality that has allowed mankind to survive throughout the ages.  Later today, however, I find that for me this ride is about getting the job done, not about lollygagging and establishing new friendships or nuturing old friendships.  I want to be in by dark. It is already cold, and with the setting of the sun it will grower colder still, and quite quickly I fear. I am dressed for day riding, not riding throughout the chilled night.

For three riders, it will be their first brevet:  Steve Meredith, Ted King, and Andrew Thai. I know Ted and Steve, but I do not know Andrew. All three are successful despite the fact that  Steve Meredith had surgery on his hand earlier in the week and is unable to wear a glove.  He improvises with a wool sock, and I think of how he often reminds me of my husband, perhaps because they both grew up in the country and know the wisdom of how to make do when necessary, the backbone of this country.  People huddle in the registration motel room,  chattering and catching up.  Smiles and yawns mingle, but as always anticipation snakes through the room. Steve Rice, the RBA, always designs such beautiful courses.  Yes, they are challenging, but that is part of the satisfaction of completing the Kentucky series, the feeling that you have met and conquered a challenge. And each of us has dragged ourselves out of a warm bed into the frigid air to begin our quest.

24 start and 22 finish.  Jody and Steve appear to be the only tandem riders.  Currently they are on their old tandem, but soon they will have a beautiful new custom tailored tandem designed by Alex Meade, another brevet rider.  Because the ride starts at 7:00 a.m. the light is only hesitatingly making her appearance at the ride start,  hiding behind clouds, tenuous and shy, maidenlike  in her reluctance.  I intend to finish before dark, so I do not have my hub generator.  Steve gives a brief talk and requests that anyone who decides to throw in the towel call so that he does not have to worry about them, and then we begin.  Bicycles spill down the drive and into the street with an assortment of lights and bags and riders.  

I am not sure who, if anyone, I will ride with today.  I briefly consider trying to hold onto Steve Rice, Bill Pustow, and Mark Rougeux, but they soon pull ahead.  One thing I have learned about brevets is that you must ride at your own pace so I do not stress about it. Trying to hold that pace could mean bonking later.  It is best to plan and be successful.  I can always speed up at the end if I have it in me.  While the days are longer, the course will be hilly so this means no loitering at controls if I am to reach my goal of finishing before night again claims the land,  particularly as I know my pace will be a relatively slow one.  I have been able to maintain my endurance by century rides on the week-ends, but my new job has prevented my riding much through the week and I am not the speediest of riders at the best of times anymore.  The loss of week day miles combined with additional weight gain from the winter could spell disaster if I don't use common sense and ride my own pace. 

From the start the wind bites my face, and while it is milder and gentler than it can be, it is still biting and I have learned to have great respect for the wind.  The wind endlessly reminds me of my own puny, weakness unless we are busy being, as my friend, Greg, says, tailwind heroes..   I think of a quote by Arthur Golden, "Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are." A person has lots of time for self contemplation on a windy brevet day. The wind impedes progress in one direction, but as importantly at times it also impedes conversation.  After riding one particularly windy brevet with Grasshopper and Bill Pustown, I remember feeling I would go mad if the sound of the wind did not stop assaulting my hearing, ceaselessly thrumming, as if she were whispering secrets that I lacked the understanding to grasp. 

Despite the monotone grayness of the landscape, I see the potential for flowers, green leaves, and color.  This will be a beautiful course in places once spring pirouettes in and waves her wand laying winter to rest.  The first control is at the top of a long descent, and despite my quick stop I begin to chill.  Another rider wishes to stay with me, but I am unable to stop the shivering and know that I need to move on.  As I do the normally lovely descent down Devil's Hollow, I quiver violently on the bike to the point where I am a tad concerned about steering,  and I think to myself how unfair it is to be uncomfortable on a down hill.  Winter has turned things backwards, and rather than anticipating a descent, I am anticipating a climb.  

I ride with Larry Preble and Steve Royse for a short bit until our rhythms no longer match, and then we each begin our individual, solitary marches to the finish.  Adding to the wind, it now begins to snow, flakes swirling wildly along with the wind.  They begin to cover the ground, but the road remains too warm for the snow to stick.  I consider what I will do if that changes and hope that my daughter doesn't have some plan that would cause her not to be able to rescue me.   For awhile I contemplate the wonder of having a daughter, and I take a moment to thank God for the blessings he has bestowed on me.  Some people want children so badly but are never blessed, others don't want them but have them anyway and don't treat them right.  I wanted children, and I was blessed, but I am sure I made many parenting errors.  I hope they will forgive me.  But whatever mistakes I have made, I have always loved them.   

 For a short time I am drawn backwards in time in that strange way that riding alone encourages and I remember the softness of their skin and their freshly bathed smell as we cuddled before bedtime to read and enter another world. I think of what I would give to go backward for awhile, but such is not the nature of life.  As Joni Mitchell said, "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got till it's gone?"  And God made  parents young with good reason.  I am about 4-5 miles outside the turn around control when the first group passes me, waving and grinning and bringing me back to the present. I remind myself that one day I will remember this brevet and that I need to appreciate it and my current health and strength that allows me to participate.  This is one thing I like about brevets and riding alone:  I never know what direction my mind may take off in.  Sometimes I am miles down the road and realize I have not noticed anything outside of my own head.

At the turn around control, I  shamelessly eavesdrop as the lady at the cash register talks about the store being put on the auction block the next week.  She believes there will be two bidders.  Her continuing employment is contingent on one of the bidders being successful as the other bidder is a large chain and has already told them they have their own staff.  When I reach the register, I question her about it and sympathize with her uncertainty at the possible loss of a job.  Later I will think about how often I complain about my job and workings, and what a blessing it is to have employment.  I make a mental note to e-mail Steve Rice so that he knows.  It would be hard to reach that control on the 300K or the 400K and find it is closed for remodeling.

 After the turn around, the snow hardens into biting pellets, sleet-like, that sting as they hit my face driven by what seems to be an ever increasing wind.   I trudge stoically onward vowing to bow out if my tires begin to slip on the road.  At Wallace Station, the ground has a light covering, and this would be a good place to stop if I have to stop as they have wonderful food, but I test my tires and they appear to hold stolidly to the road.  When I reach the next to last control following the long climb back up Devil's Hollow, Bill Pustown and Mark are pulling out and I say a brief hello before heading inside to get my card signed and a  quick snack.  By now the snow flakes have softened yet again, and float lazily along with the wind, beautiful in their own, stark way.

I pull into the last control as Mark is leaving in his car.  The motel has a short, steep section right as you pull into it, and my legs complain at this last little bit of effort despite my reassurance that they have served me well and will be given the rest they deserve.  Susan Howell, Steve Rice, and Blueberry are there to greet me.  I am glad to be done, and after a bit of chatting head homeward lured by the thought of a warm, scented bath and a book and a warm bed.  Today's journey has been completed successfully.  Thank you, Mr. Rice, for a challenging course.  Thank you, Mr. Pustow, for marking the course.  And congratulations to the new brevet finishers:  Steve, Ted, and Andrew.  May you find the gratification from completing a challenging task that I have found, both now and in the future.