Texas Hell Week 2013

"You can all go to Hell;  I will go to Texas."

Davy Crockett

This is the saying on my work coffee mug, the mug I got the first year I went to Texas Hell Week, the first year that started this pernicious addiction:  2005.  Ever since that time, when things are going badly and I wish for nothing more than to be on my bicycle gliding down the road with the wind in my hair, free as a coyote, or when the cold has grabbed my soul squeezing tightly and refusing to relent, or someone has angered or frustrated me and brought me to my limits and there seems to be no escape,  I look at that mug and know that so long as I can go to Texas in the spring all will be bearable.  Texas is about bicycles that roll up and down hills.  Texas is about friends that warm my heart.  Texas is about food that titillates my taste buds.  Texas is about scenery that takes my breath away and speaks to my soul.  And Texas is about freedom that can make the rest of the year seem like drudgery.  Many other woman look forward to spa visits or to cruise ships or to beaches, and yes, I also think I would like those things and am not immune to romance, but not as much as I like the spring trek to Texas and Hell Week.  At least, all except the car trip down and back:-)

I meet Steve Thursday afternoon, take him to the airport to pick up the van, and return to await the packing.  When Steve arrives, Dave and he hurriedly pack the van:  6 bicycles, suitcases, tools, and my faithful pillow, the one I took to PBP with me. Soon enough we had out on the road for the annual trek.  Some things are standard:  Czech Stop pastries, What a Burger, Austin Bike stores.  Some things differ.  But always there is the sense of anticipation that only those who truly love to ride their bicycle will understand, hat wonderful feeling before a ride that makes you feel young and adventurous despite your age or experience.  And I don't worry about the food.  I know ahead of time it will be a week of gluttony.  As Robb Walsh  said, "I didn't drive eleven hours across the state of Texas to watch my cholesterol."

Bill Pustow, Jody Patterson, Steve Mauer, Mike Crawford,first timer Ted King, and first timer, Amelia Dauer, all head down separately, either in pairs on individually.  Friends that are not in the bike club such as Greg S. and Greg Z. are either already there (unfair Greg) or also on their way.  In fact, I met these friends at Hell Week thanks to Greg Z. for I would never have had the courage to introduce myself.  And when I do sleep in the car, I dream of seeing everyone and I dream of Texas, happy, untroubled dreams, the kind that renew the soul.  For I am free for one week, no work, no cooking, no cleaning,  with nothing that I have to do and I can ride, eat, and sleep, three of my favorite activities. I am selfish with this time because it seems there is so little of it.  I still feel guilty about not sharing the driving, but I have offered to find another way and they have not accepted so I suppose they don't mind. And so I sleep and read and dream.

The first night we traditionally eat Mexican at the "Enchanted Inn" outside of Fredericksburg, and this year is no different.  We head out immediately after picking up our packet from registration. The price is reasonable and the food is outstanding however unhealthy it may be.  Decisions are made about what time to start as we don't normally join the group start but do our own thing. And before you know it is  morning and everyone is gathered in front of the motel ready to take off on one of my favorite routes, "Windows on Doss."  The weather is not what I had hoped for, but I am here and I am going to ride come hell or high water.  I am intoxicated just with being here, with seeing friends, with knowing that before the week is out I will get a chance to ride in shorts and a short sleeve jersey and be warm, the kind of warm that seeps inside your very bones and makes you glad to be alive.  I will sweat the clean, cleansing sweat of summer.

 I giggle at the name duplication in this morning group:  in a group of ten or so there are two Bills, two Steves, and two Gregs. The Gregs bring a new friend, a Bill I have not met before.  While I don't get to know him well on this trip, I already feel as if I will like him.  I worry about whether I will hold everyone up, but Steve Rice is nice enough to loan me his secondary GPS as I screwed up and did not download the routes correctly.  I know that if I am slow, all I can do is to tell the others to go and they will have to make the choice to stay or ride ahead, but now I won't get lost.  It is silly this worry, as nobody is forced to ride with me.  They all know my normal pace.  But still the feeling is there, the worry that I will cause everyone to be miserable for it is hard to ride a pace that is not your own.  It is sill to worry about getting lost, because eventually you find your way.  But there it is.  Feelings or worries just are whether they are justified or not.

I find that I have lost my urge to hurry.  I want to savor this moment in time, a moment when I am completely happy.   I want to talk and catch up with those I don't see often.  I want to sing and saturate myself with the scenery.  I want to be warm, and I know that before the week is out I will be.  And when I return home I will have lost all my patience with cold.  I will just be over it, unable to cope.  Days that would have seemed warm and quite ride-able a few weeks ago will seem quite unmanageable. 

Too much time has elapsed without getting a moment to write for me to recount much of what happened this year.  Life just got in the way.  Like each Texas trip, it was different.  And this was perhaps a year to mourn some of the differences.  Our groups are not what they once were and I miss the close intimacy that Steve, Dave, Bill, and I once shared.  Jeff and Lynn Pearce did not come. While I did not ride with them, they were missed. (Lynn is one of my female cycling Godesses, gifted and strong;-) New riders from Louisville and elsewhere did come. "Harry's" is closed.  I cry inside remembering the laughter when Harry told some guy who wanted to use the bathroom to "pee on a tree." The restrooms at Vanderpohl are now clean and new.  How odd that while others celebrate this face lift, there is part of me that clings to what was however nasty and unusable the restrooms were. 

Moments:  The ride to Old Number 9 with Greg and Greg and learning that the house I will add a picture of is not a fire tower but someone's actual home. (between Greg and Greg in the distance)  The warm feeling inside of riding with friends I have not seen for awhile, like your heart wants to weep because it is so full and you know the moment is so transient. Appreciation that they like you enough that they are willing to slow their pace. And I still don't know why when I used the restroom there (they are normally closed) there is wind coming up from the commode chilling my bottom. Learning about wild boars and how they have mated with some type of Russian Boar and can be impervious to even a Magnum if it hits the gristle.

Bill and I shared what has become our traditional solo ride together:  the 80 mile version of the Death Ride as I fear I will keep others from getting to Steak Night timely if I do the longer ride.  And now I would have trouble giving it up even with all the time in the world because I always enjoy this ride with Bill because he is a special person to me and I appreciate his patience.  On this ride during one of the climbs I see what I can only figure to be a Black Footed Ferret though its face seemed more beautiful than those I have found on the internet as I tried to ascertain just what type of animal it was.   And Steak Night, as always different than the previous year but always a good time.

And so it is over for another year, and I know that by next January I will once again be pining for Texas. Steve once again won the mileage contest (a little personal competition) with over 700 miles, but I once again won the century contest and had a tad over 650 miles.  Next year, maybe I'll try to win both;-)

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.  

 

 

Thoughts on a Snowy Morning

I weary of winter in her grayness, silver tendrils of ice encompassing the earth, thrusting themselves through cracks and crevices in sides of hills,  holding color at bay.....almost as if life pauses.  Even water with all its fluidity is stopped dead in her tracks, at least temporarily. Good intentions fade in the sternness of her argentate gaze, laziness becomes a norm rather than an aberration.  Scant relief is found in the rare sunny day, pallid and forlorn,  a mockery of summer warmth, a shadow upon Plato's wall.  It always strikes me as odd how something that is so beautiful when it is new soon loses it beauty when it impacts action.

It is on days like this, when I am mentally imprisoned by snow and ice, that I begin to long for Texas and Hell Week.   It is on days like this that I despair of ever being able to ride the normal 600-700 miles that we ride while we are there.  Yet somehow, it always works out.  For those who don't know, Hell Week is a week long bicycle ride that takes place in the spring in Fredericksburg, Texas.

My friends are more dedicated than I using trainers or being retired and getting in miles during the week, but they make adjustments for me.   I have quit vowing to use the trainer knowing that I am lying to myself for I will not,or will not very often.  It is on days like this that  I long for a fat bike that would allow me to get out safely despite the snow.  It is just hard to justify the expense, and despite his support, to explain to my husband why I would need yet another bike.  But bikes are like children, each is different and has her own charm and talents.  It is just too hard to explain to someone who does not ride. 

I think of how each year Hell Week is a bit different, but each year it has enriched my life.  In my memory, the time shimmers with laughter and warmth, and I would not take back and re-do the time, even the year I rode with the broken rib chasing Greg and Joe up hillson the brevet after Steve turned back due to a mechanical, unable to stand to climb as the pain became too great.  I think of tacos and steak nights and vistas that take my breath away with their stern beauty.  I think of being out of breath as I do my best to pedal fast enough to keep up or to climb a hill that challenges me to persevere. And somehow, in these thoughts, knowing I will most likely be going again, I am renewed.  I realize that Chekhov was right when he said: "Let us learn to appreciate that there will be times when the trees will be bare, and look forward to the time when we may pick the fruit."

This wintry day will pass, and it would serve me well to thank her and appreciate her beauty, for it is the contrast that makes Hell Week and the other seasons shine like diamonds.  Snow on!  I will clean my house and curl up with a cat, a book, and a cup of tea.  I will dream of Hell Week.

Short Frankfort 2013

"Adventure is a path. Real adventure-

self determined, self motived, often risky-

forces you to have firsthand encounters with the 

world.  Your body will collide with the earth and 

you will bear witness. In this way you will be 

compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness 

and bottomless cruelty of humankind-and perhaps

realize that you yourself are capable of both.

This will change you. Nothing again will ever

be black and white"  Mark Jenkins

Another year.  New resolutions to be made, kept, or broken.  The eternal quest to better oneself, often without the realization that the self we are now is not the self we were ten years ago or five years ago or even a year ago.  Life is not all that changes.  We do as well.  I realize how much the bicycling community has changed when 8 others show for a century ride when the starting temperatures are in the high teens to low twenties depending upon whose thermostat you believe.  

It used to be that a winter century ride was considered a huge success if five people showed.  Normally it was three or four, and at times just two, that would face the frigid temperatures for a day of riding.  And even though the prediction today is for sun most of the day and light winds, eight surprises me.  But then the cycling gods of winter have been kind the past few years with milder temperatures and lesser winds.  I will be more believing of the change when it is predicted to be in the twenties or below all day with stronger winds.  I briefly remember one winter ride when I had to warn the others not to ride next to me since the crosswind was so strong I could not hold my line reliably.  And the attendees have changed other than a few treasured friends that have continued to maintain their love of cycling and to challenge their legs and themselves, to "rage against the dying of the light."

The Short Frankfort Century is not my favorite ride, mainly because it is significantly less than a hundred miles and I have to ride by myself afterwards,  but I schedule it because we have not ridden to Frankfort for awhile.  Why do I have to round it out to 100 miles. Well, because of the Big Dogs Century Challenge.  I have ridden at least one century every month since November of 2003.  There are those that log on the site that have ridden more, but they started when I did not yet ride a bicycle.  The challenge gets me out the door even when the warm bed sings her siren call on a frigid winter morn and it would be all too easy to talk myself out of riding.  Putting a ride on the club schedule serves the same purpose. Frankly, company on winter centuries was one main reason I joined the Louisville Bicycle Club.  I had ridden a few winter centuries on my own, and I knew that company would make them easier and that I would learn from others.  I owe Eddie Doerr for telling me about the web site, and I still think of him frequently during rides.  I also owe him for telling me about the Mad Dogs, though he did not warn me how they would resist my joining their winter group of riders.  But that is another story.

Today I am much better prepared to ride than I was when I first began to ride winter centuries in 2003. I am not necessarily stronger, but I have learned about wool and clothing and equipment to minimize the possibility of needing to be dragged in. My bicycle is better.  Still, I was tougher then. Now I am more likely to cancel, to talk myself out of riding, to miss the adventures that life holds if you only open your eyes, gird your loins, and take a chance.

It is good to see people that I have not seen since before Christmas.  My son and his wife visited for two weeks, and I stayed home and luxuriated in the glow of their company.  Not everyone has children who want to come home for two weeks to spend time with their mother, and I appreciate my good fortune that they feel this is a second home and enjoy spending time with me.  I have thoroughly enjoyed myself, but I am ready to resume my normal life as were they. Still, I am not feeling particularly talkative today.  Mainly, after catching up on the basics of how everyone and their loved ones are doing, I just want to ride but to have companionship so that the road is not so lonely or so long.  Friends can make a long way shorter somehow, just by being there.  As I told a young one yesterday, sometimes it just feels good to get a hug, even if it is not a physical hug. The presence of friends wraps itself around me like the warmest of blankets.  Ironically, however, there is no place I would rather be than on the road riding a century and watching the scenery pass.

 

Snow laces the ground like a patchwork quilt, a mix of snow with grass peaking out randomly in patches, not nearly as thick as it is just an hour north where the snow continues to hide the grass.  Too much time has passed for this to be a pretty snow.  It has yielded to dirt and is gray.  Still there is a certain beauty.  Mostly the roads seem clear, but there are the occasional patches of ice that have not yet yielded to the suns blandishments.  I hope that nobody falls, but if they do it is part of the bargain that your bicycle makes with you.  Yes, she will allow you to enjoy her, to ride her and share with her the pleasures and pains of uphills and downhills and flats where you can race the wind, but eventually you will fall and pay your dues.  Hopefully it will be just a bit of road rash or a minor break.  Sometimes,  it is more, much more. Each rider has to determine if the risk is worth it.  Yes, life can be lived more safely by not riding a bicycle, but at the end of it will you have the memories that adventure and risk can bring?  One of the many faults I believe that I had as a parent was teaching my children to live life too safely, to consider consequences before taking action.  Sensible yes.  But wise?  Sometimes I don't know.

It is pleasant to have sunlight stretched before me, to see the line of bicycles and their riders, to hear the sounds of shoes clipping in, and wheels turning.  I am glad to be alive and healthy and to be able to ride a hundred miles on January morning.  I am glad to have friends that share my passion.  I like the way my lungs stretch themselves to accommodate the increased need for oxygen during hills, and I enjoy the tingling in my thighs after a sustained effort that tells me they are faltering but gaining strength for the coming cycling season.  I like that I no longer need to feel the need to press the pace on every ride, but I can sit back and ride as I will:  slowly at times and not so slowly at other times. I thoroughly enjoy the third store stop when a few of us gather around the ancient wood stove feeling the heat seep into every crack and crevice of our being, knowing we will pay when we go back to face the cold yet totally unable to pull ourselves away.  

I did not like it so much when a dog grabs my heel shortly after we left Frankfort, but he did no damage other than to awaken bad memories and old fears that I have largely conquered.  And again, this is part of the bargain you make with your bicycle.  We share the road, not only with automobiles but with dogs and joggers squirrels and cats and even cows or lose livestock.  

When we are back in the park, my reverie broken only after I finish out my last few miles on my own.  Soon I am home, returned to the womb of a steaming hot bath, savoring the memories of a day well spent.   While this ride did not have any significant adventures, it was a pleasant way to spend a January day and I will sleep well tonight.  Perhaps I will dream of friends and bicycles and dogs and wood stoves.  Who knows.

Bethlehem

It is time for the traditional Bethlehem Century. And yes, to be traditional it appears there will be rain. It always makes me think of the original trek to Bethlehem to pay taxes. I really don't think the holy family rode along in a Mercedes, BMW, or Cadillac staying at the Hilton along the way. I suspect they were probably exhausted, dirty, cold, and disheartened. It always me make me downplay any discomfort from the ride as minor.....after all it is only 100 miles. Not that there is a similarity between our group and the holy family.

And of course it makes me think of other trips to Bethlehem. Once the Subway lady blessed us with sandwich gloves to add additional warmth to our fingers after mopping up puddles the size of the Atlantic Ocean, all without complaint. I can see Jeff "Lucky" dog trying to ride quickly to drop a dog that happened to be able to match our pace for five or six miles, a smile on his face (the dog's face) the entire time. Another time my daughter had to sag a few in. (This service is no longer available so please don't depend on a ride home from my family). I believe it was on Bethlehem that Carla "Stormy" got her Mad Dog Name. Oh, yeah, good times. It is peculiar how we remember those rides that challenge us or where the unusual happens the best.

Thanks to Mike Upsall who checked and says Bethlehem Post Officer remains open at the time. We may make our own history being the last to be able to mail postcards from that sleepy little town. Who knows what 2013 will bring: more jobs, less jobs, or different jobs.

Unless it is a downpour or there is lightening and it appears to be unusually dangerous, I will not cancel if anyone shows up that wants to ride. That being said, please stay home if you don't like riding in rain or are afraid to ride in rain. This can be a difficult ride. I suspect I will be the chubby anchor, but then I know my way and nobody is responsible for sweeping my sorry rear end.

I do ask that for the safety of the group and myself that you be able to maintain a 15 mph moving average. Daylight continues to recede more rapidly, particularly on an overcast day, and rain quite often means a plethora of flat tires.

"Come out and play!" Puddle 

The above was posted to the Kylistserve prior to the ride.  It is hard to believe a year has passed since I last mailed my Christmas cards from Bethlehem.  As I get older, time seems to go more quickly, but then I think of all that has happened in 2012 and realize the changes that a year can bring and a year does not seem so short.  Some of the changes were good, some were bad, and some were neutral, but through them all I have tried to maintain my dignity through both happy endings and sad endings.  It is hard to realize how little we really control, but we can control how we respond, and the strongest emotions and responses are saved for those closest to me and that I trust to handle them gently.  This year, yet again, I learned that "fair" comes once a year when the carnival comes to town.  We all know that life is not fair and never will be.  Perhaps that is why I have a great appreciation for people that I feel do their best to be fair.  But that is, indeed, another story.

I thought it might be the last year for the December Bethlehem  ride, at least with mailing post cards,  but per Mike the post office is open. Such a small post office in such an out of the way place, it puts an emphasis on how the world has changed. I really debate canceling the ride when I read that it would be rainy, but when I asked there were others who wanted to ride and so I was  in.  After all, it was only supposed to be rainy, not particularly cold and rainy.  And in the end, it are those rides that challenge us the most that we remember the best.  "The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.  What we obtain too cheaply, we esteem too lightly; 'tis dearness only that gives everything its value."  (Thomas Paine).  In the past, this ride has, on occasion, been a real challenge, and I do remember bits and pieces and the satisfying feeling of completion despite those challenges.

Only a few show for the ride,  Perry Finley, Steve Rice, and Mark Rougeux, but that is enough.   Bill is still not riding and Dave has suffered an injury and is off the bike.  Mike Upsall, who has been riding with us recently, is busy with holiday plans as is John Larson. I know that each of these riders is strong and capable of riding if the weather worsens.  Despite predictions, there is just a light mist in the air, really not worthy of being called a drizzle.  The forestry is deserted except for those that showed to ride, and the lack of chatter from the surrounding forest and people enjoying the park  tells me that winter, however mild, is upon us.  

I think how this will be my last century for December as my  young ones are coming home for the holidays.  I think how I have ridden a century every month of every year since November 2003 and how fortunate I have been for my health to allow this.  I think how glad I am to have people to ride with and how much easier it is to keep the century challenge when there are others, particularly in winter.  And I thank Dave Parker in my mind for maintaining a web site that encourages the century challenge and gets me out the door each month.  But this day does not qualify as winter despite the calendar.  Yes, there are wet roads and some mist, but the temperatures are warm and the wind never seems to get too rough. 

Wheels turn and we are out of the parking lot and on our way.  There is laughter and the telling of a few jokes and stories, and always there is the sound of the road.  Worms fly up covering our bicycles.  While it would be better if they were food for birds or served a useful purpose with so many drawn to the road by the rain, there is no way to avoid them, they are just a part of riding a bike during certain types of weather.  They are also part of cleaning a bike after a rain, and following the ride I will wipe down my bike despite the cooler weather having learned from those times I was too weary or lazy to do so and found the difficulty of cleaning dried worms from metal;-)

When we reach Bethlehem, Perry and I proudly pull out our plastic wrapped Christmas cards and deposit them in the mailbox as the post office itself is closed.  After all, Mike checked and the post office has not yet been shut down.  And it hasn't, but it is closed until they hire a new Post Master and the unread sign on the door asks you not to deposit mail in the mailbox but to take it to New Washington.  Just as we read this and our grins turn to grimaces of despair on how to retrieve the cards, a postal worker drives by delivering mail.  I stop her and ask if we can get our cards back, and she assures me she will empty the box and see that they get mailed and have a Bethlehem stamp.  Whew!  Serendipity strikes again.  During the ride Steve reminds me that there is a Bethlehem, Kentucky and it has a post office if this Bethlehem is closed next year, and I remember that endings can be new beginnings. 

Part of each ride is, of course, deciding where to eat lunch.  The traditional stop on this ride is Subway, but we decide to eat at the Deputy store.  It should be open as it is Saturday, and the last time we ate there the sandwiches were especially good AND we got to see Santa Claus, or at least Steve got to see Santa Claus, or at least Steve SAYS he got to see Santa Claus;-) This year, no Santa Claus, but the sandwiches were good.  My feet are the only part of me that is cold, and I have brought an extra pair of wool socks in a baggie so while we are there I switch them out.  My feet are toasty the rest of the ride. Perry has brought his own sandwich and rides ahead finishing the ride on his own. 

And the ride ends quickly.  I bid everyone goodbye and a Merry Christmas as I won't see them until 2013,  then I ride the extra distance to make it a true century.   "And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year!"