Virgin Century: Century of the Week

"The time you enjoy wasting

is not wasted time."

Bertrand Russell 

 

As is usual in Indiana for August, the prediction today is for very hot weather.  Hot weather or very cold weather always causes me concern when I lead a ride.  I don't normally have trouble in the heat if I am conservative about my pace and the course is not overly demanding, but still there have been times when I have finished a  hot ride with every cell of my being screaming loudly for liquid, preferably ice cold liquid, and I feel as if I might burst into flame at any moment. Where cramps torture me that evening while I lay in bed or relax on the couch and move my legs a certain way.  But that is not my norm and  that is me.  I worry more for those that show for the ride because they somehow feel to be my responsibility, as if they were not adults capable of making their own decisions. And I have nursed many a rider through a hot ride when they were having trouble. And I remember a couple of rides not captained by me with a rider, the same rider, prostrate on the ground while others threw water on him and tried to cool him.   But it always concerns me and interests me.  Why do some people adapt easily while others struggle to adapt?  Genetics?  Fitness level?  On a ride earlier this year, I learned that Garmin actually has something that supposedly tells you what percentage of heat adaptation you have.  Color me skeptical.  But perhaps it does work.

After last week's fast (for these old bones) ride, I find I really don't mind if people show this week or not.  I just want to ride.  Company will be nice if it happens, but riding alone at my own pace is equally enticing.  I tend to notice more of what I see alone, to think more.  As always, I remain quite flummoxed by how much I can miss while riding with others.  I know many others don't understand this.  They tell me they can't imagine riding a century alone, that it would be torture for them.  And of course, there are gains riding with company, but there are also losses.  Always the balancing act. With fall and winter coming and the Pandemic stealthily drawing in her net, I suspect there will be more alone time than I desire so I have actively sought company in anticipation.

 

 I have not ridden the Virgin Century for years now.  I did not design the course and it requires that I drive to the start.  It has its moments, but there is a bit too much farmland unmixed with variety for my tastes.  A few too many busy roads however short the time spent on them.  But still I like to see the course preserved.    There certainly are courses ridden more frequently that lack the charm of the Virgin, centuries like the Surbane and the Urbane, rides some people adore but I detest due to the heavy traffic and car fumes and traffic lights.  I particularly detest these rides in the spring when earth throws off winter's shackles and is awakening and there is birth and color throughout the countryside.  Despite my intense dislike of these courses, sometimes I ride them because of the TMD competition.   It seems that spring is when so many want to ride through the city and it just seems such a waste of bicycle time during months that seem to be made for cycling.  I suppose there is a beauty there that eludes me or it is because the courses are essentially flat with lots of rest time at traffic lights.  Regardless, I think I shall always prefer light traffic, scenic country rides.  If that means hills and a bit more effort, so be it. I long ago gave up trying to understand why people prefer heavy traffic, the scent of exhaust,  and lack of scenery.

 

As I understand it, originally the Virgin Century was put together for first time century riders and there is no denying that it is an easier, relatively fast course  compared to most centuries that we ride.  Alan Darby and Ellen M. normally captained this ride, but I believe that Paul told me he thought Mike Pitt put the course together.   As far as I know, Alan and Ellen  no longer ride and have not for a few years. Mike "Sparky" Pitt has not ridden with the club for years.   I knew none of them well, but still feel a twinge of regret at their loss.  I knew Sparky better than the others, and always appreciated his wit and how he could make me laugh until my stomach hurt.   As Bob recently pointed out to me:  most of the people we ride with are riding friends  only.  They are not people you go shopping with or play cards with.  Once they quit cycling, you lose touch.  I concur and add that they also don't seem to ride distance more than a few years.  I remember Bill Pustow once telling me that most people don't ride distance for more than two years, or I think that was the amount of time he gave them.  Was it him that figured that out or a study he came upon?  It seems true regardless of whether it is or not.

 

Despite the first of the course being relatively flat,  there is a long, demanding climb on what has become a much busier road than when the ride was originally put together and the end of the century is more difficult from the first half of the ride. I remember hurting on that climb one time, legs aching, mentally wrestling with the desire to quit.

 

All this riding....is it a waste of time that should be spent doing other things?  Many people think so. And it is a question I have asked myself numerous times, particularly on long brevets or difficult rides, the ones where you promise God and yourself that if he'll just get you to the end you will NEVER mount a bicycle again all the while knowing that you are lying and hoping God really does have a sense of humor because he also knows you are lying.  Similar in some ways to giving birth. As I labored to bring my daughter into the world, I vowed to remain forever celibate.  But later I had a son, and if my husband had concurred, would have liked to have had another.  In the end,  I suppose,  most things are a waste of time if you come right down to it.  Few of us ever really accomplish anything truly significant.  At least cycling contributes to physical fitness.  And I can think of worse ways to waste my time.  Is it a waste if we gain from it physically and or emotionally?  Russell is probably right.

 

  Distance cycling certainly is not normal, particularly for a woman.  For the majority of the centuries this year I have been the only woman on the rides.  But for some reason I love the rides, the roads, the adventure that  possibly awaits. I love the kindness of the men that are stronger but still  allow me to tag along and don't scorn my weakness.  Still, sometimes I wonder about myself and this passion.  Maybe it is  the possibility that draws me.   Maybe the memories many rides evoke. Maybe a longing for what might be just around the corner?  The adventure, the lure, the tinge of danger.  I just know that even a hard ride leaves me feeling a sense of satisfaction.   Over all the miles on the road, there have been only a handful of times when I was  not glad that I rode even when I had to push myself out the door. 

Five others show for the ride:  Tom "Ambassador" Askew, Jon Wineland, Mike "Diesel" Kammenish, Jeff Schrade, and Jeff's son, Jonathan Schrade.  Jeff and Jonathan are doing their first century of the year.  I don't know them so I have no idea what type of riders they may be.  Jon tells me his longest ride this year is 40 miles, but he is young, 18 I believe, and at 18 you can get by with more than you can at 65.   Amazingly, Jon W., the other Jon,  rode a century Friday and Saturday so today will be his third of the hot, humid week. I rode only a short portion of the Friday ride and was glad to rest yesterday.   Everyone is in a good mood and ready to roll and we leave out about five minutes after the start time.  

Almost immediately we break into groups.  As expected Diesel, Jon W., and Ambassador lead the way while Jeff, Jon, and I proceed at a much more reasonable pace.  The sun is shining and it is not yet hot and the miles pass quickly.  I have put on the description that I will sweep down to 13 mph, but we are averaging over 16 at the first store stop.  I can tell, however, that the pace is wearying for them and tell them I am more than happy to sweep at a lower pace down to 13, but I won't sweep at 13 unless someone needs me to.  They assure me they are fine with the pace and that I can go ahead, but I could not keep the pace of the front group even if I wanted to.  And we don't keep our 16 average.  At the end we are somewhere in the low 15's, still a respectable pace for the weather.

While the groups are separate, we tend to regroup at each store stop.  The problem comes at lunch.  When we arrive at the designated lunch stop, it is no longer in business.  I am not sure whether to turn around to the new location or proceed. Before the ride started I had mentioned the possibility of eating on the town square at the coffee shop.  As Jeff, Jonathan, and I head that way, Jon rolls out of the parking lot of Save-A-Lot to join us.  We find the others already at the coffee shop though they don't remember my mentioning it in my pre-ride speech.  It is definitely a step upwards food-wise from Subway and if I ever put this route on again, it will be the official stop.  Four of us eat outside and two inside.  Everyone agrees it is a better choice.  Nobody is pissed off that I did not check to ensure the old lunch stop is open.  I love it when riders roll with this punches.  This lunch stop also is close to the 60 mile mark, my favorite distance for lunch during a century.  

 

Despite the heat, everyone finishes strongly and gathers just a bit at the end before heading off home in different directions.  The long climb up 160 following the third store stop is not as onerous or as heavily trafficked as I remember though there are, indeed, more cars than I like.  The descent down Pixley is amazing and brings back memories of climbing it regularly as part of my training for the Virginia 1000K.  I  much prefer going down;-)  At one point, grass is tall and I notice deer.  You can't see them unless they are moving.  When they bound, you see the head and butt, then nothing.  I am never able to see exactly how many.

 

And another century is in the books.  And I have enjoyed myself whether the time be considered wasted or not.  Mostly I am glad that everyone seemed to have a good time and arrived in the parking lot safely. 

Century of the Week: Orleans: The Back Door

"We're all traveling through time together,

every day of our lives.  All we can do is do

our best to relish this remarkable ride."

Domhnall Gleeson

At the last minute I have to change the date of the century from Saturday to Sunday. This combined with a number of club members doing an out of town ride leads me to expect a small group, possibly no group.  And I am right:  only two arrive to ride. Jon Wineland and Mike "Diesel Dog" Kammenish are the two.  Expecting that those who did come to ride, if any,  would be stronger than I am, I had already decided to ride the Cannondale for I am much faster on it than I am on the Lynskey though not nearly so comfortable.  I don't understand the physics behind this.  I just know that it seems to be true.  I also recognize that despite my riding the Cannondale it will still be a slow pace for them, but perhaps not so wearisome as it might otherwise be.  Jon, particularly, with riding a century and running the day before might even be content with the slower pace.

The weather is unusually cool for this time of year and there is wall to wall sunshine, something that has been in short supply this summer.  It is delicious to roll out into the coolness. Queen Anne's Lace lines the hedgerow along with some purple Chicory and white Sweet Clover.  There are a few Black Eyed Susan's, but they are mostly gone, whisked away by July. What is left whispers of their former beauty and glory. Dew covers everything in the early morning, thick and nourishing and adding a beauty to the already gorgeous scenery.  I know it is very temporary, and perhaps that makes me appreciate it even more than I might otherwise.   I soak it in.  With winter coming and the Pandemic once more taking hold of the world, I know these days, like the dew and most things,  are limited.  I need this reminder of the beauty in the world, of friendship, for yesterday I was with my sister in Hospice, a living reminder of change and loss and the shortness of life.  I hope this ride will help me shake some of the anger over the unfairness of it.  Crippled in her twenties and now this.  Life just isn't fair.

The first of this ride has a couple of climbs that test the legs a bit:  Liberty Knob and the ironically named Flatwood.  But I love both of these roads.  There is brief, sporadic chatter and there is silence, silence that makes me remember the miles I have spent with each of the other riders.  Memory after memory of the years Diesel and I have ridden together flood my brain.  Diesel was the first person to talk to me on a club ride. I see him at the Back to School century in Seymour, along with Chris Quirey, as we pace lined and worried about the hill they promised us.  I grin thinking of how we kept waiting for the hill and realized we had climbed it without realizing it was the grand hill the organizers had talked about.  I see him on the Short Frankfort Century, allowing me to suck his wheel as we fought the winds from Hurricane Ike, signs blowing to the ground, loose gravel and sand blasting our skin until it it hurt.  I remember finally reaching a pop machine and being so grateful as  I could not let  go of the handlebars to drink due to the wind and how, as I opened it facing the wrong direction, the wind drew the precious liquid up and out of the can without it reaching my lips.  

I remember Jon and I and our picnic at Hardy Lake when we were first becoming friends.  I remember our later ride where we hit gravel and came upon a cow who had just given birth, placenta still hanging and visible, and how precious it was watching the newborn calf learn to stand.  How it knew instantly where Mom kept the milk.  And I am warm from that day.

We take a brief wrong turn that will add a mile onto the ride, but nobody complains and we are at the first store stop before you know it.  A car pulls in with the radio playing so loudly that it is an assault on the ears even from a distance.  As we look in, there is a woman and child, upper bodies dancing in time with the music, obviously entranced and enjoying themselves, and hearing the music scream, "Screw you."  I think of  how things have changed.  My mother would have put her foot down on music with those lyrics, or perhaps not.  The questionable lyrics of a couple of Beatles songs float through my brain.  All of us grin at  her antics.  I expect her to be  young, but when she gets out of the car she is not so young and appears to be toothless. I think how I love the different things I see on rides.  How odd each of us is.  I feel quite certain that she would believe anyone riding over a hundred miles on a bicycle is quite on the edge of sanity.  It is always the other person's existence that seems rather peculiar to us, locked in our own view of reality and right and wrong.

As we leave Shorts Corner to take Daisy Lane, I am glad.  Shorts Corner is more demanding than Daisy Lane and Martinsburg Roads are.  It is easier to keep up on flats than on hills.  I have grown noticeably weaker on the hills over the years.  But I suppose that is also true of the flats.  Later today, I will be impressed with my 16.1 finishing average, but it has not been so long ago that every century of the Century Challenge, a five century back to back event, was over 16 each day. I quite enjoy being at the top of the rise and the view that stretches before me like a canvas of colors.  Everything still lush and green despite the start of what looks to be a dry spell.  How lucky  I am to have the health to be here and to have friends to share it with.  

My GPS has been giving me some issues, but finally decides to behave itself and I am glad to have arrows as I am less familiar with the route once we leave Salem.  Orleans is late in the ride and lunch is not until about 60 miles.  At lunch Diesel talks of a bad fall he had breaking five ribs and other bones.  I realize I was not aware of it and I think how easily we loose touch.  Not good when there are so few of us left that ride. 

I think of how important it is to keep making new riding friends because so many drift off either having health problems or finding other interests or doing shorter rides.  I have made so many friendships through bicycling, friends that I treasure.  And while I know the day will come when I cannot ride anymore, I also know that unless it is due to sudden death, I will miss these miles, these friends, the hills, the grass, even the wind that I curse as it slaps me in the face and impedes my progress making a difficult journey even more challenging. 

After lunch the head wind we have been fighting becomes a tailwind and there is a long flat stretch that allows us to fly. Since it is a small group and we have space, I drop into my aerobars which seems to help me go even faster, perhaps because the bike fit was done anticipating being in the aerobars.  It seems no time before we hit Salem and the last store stop.  

And then we finish.  Diesel says he feels good and adds a few more miles to an already long ride.  I long for a chair and water.  I realize I have not drank nearly enough on this ride, a common fault of mine.  Despite the cooler weather, Jon registered 86 at one point and not counting the store stops, I have not drained one water bottle.  I resolve to do better next time.  And I appreciate the fact that in all likelihood, there WILL be a next time.  There is something healing about being on a bicycle.  There is something healing about the laughter on group rides or even just the silent companionship with each knowing the other truly loves what they are doing.  Doing my best to "enjoy this remarkable ride."  Ride safe and ride happy. 

 

Dupont: Century of the Week

""Summer dropping so easily a delicious

everything upon your skin and lips.  Like

a never-ending kiss - taunting, deep, and 

luscious.  The sun.  The heat.  The thousand

echoes of a timelessness before time, when every

day seems longer than the next, and no day 

seems likely to truly end.  Summer."

 

Carew Papritz  

 This weeks century is the Dupont Century.  I am not sure who put this route together.  Paul says  he does not know.  I suspect it is Tim Chilton, but I don't know for sure.   I try to pass these things on  knowing full well that most won't remember and fewer still will care, but that there will be the one or two who understand the importance.  Certainly putting a century together now is much easier than it was in the old, pre GPS days.  But even now roads have to be woven together to reach stores to refresh supplies and to meet other needs.  Regardless, the route has, to the best of my knowledge, remained the same.  The change is going to be the store stop.  The old store is closed whether due to retirement or lack of business I can't say.  I have fond memories of the old store, but its closure can't take those away.  It can only mean there will be no new memories there.  Like the store at Medora, the old store was, literally, an old store, the kind that takes you back fifty years to a different way of life.  As the Rascal Flatts song says, "I miss Mayberry, sitting on the porch drinking ice cold cherry coke."  Change, change, always change.

I am the first to arrive at the ride start but it is not long before cars begin to  straggle in.  John calls to tell me he is running late due to a road closure.  I assure him I will wait.  I wonder how the day will go, for it is summer and it is supposed to be hot and  humid.  I hope everyone rides wisely.  I hope everyone is starting the ride fully hydrated.  

 

As I have said before, the sun is so masculine to me, searing hot and demanding.  The sun is wonderful and I will miss him when winter knocks with her gray days and pallid, heatless sunlight, no longer a kiss or caress. There has been too little of his presence thus far this summer, this bright, bold sun.  He can make demands on the body that leave you praying for cloud cover, some wind, or a blessed ice cube and watering hole.  Thirst...a powerful need.  But there is a comfort to his presence, a reminder of other summer days with  no school, no responsibilities, an eternity.  I feel sorry for children today that they have been robbed of that experience.  But it is what it is.  They will have other things to remember and treasure as have the generations that preceded them. 

It is pretty much what is becoming the regular crowd that show:  Larry "Gizmo" Preble, Tom Hurst, Tom "Ambassador" Askew, Thomas Nance, Bob Grable, and John Pelligrino.  I hoped Gayle would begin showing back up.  She is so funny and makes everyone laugh.  I miss Mike "Diesel" Kammenish and Dave "Bam Bam" King and others that I don't see very often. But it is what it is and I enjoy the people who have showed.  At the start of the ride there are jokes about the numerous Toms that are riding and I tell them Steve was the popular name when I first started riding centuries:  Steve Rice, Steve Montgomery, Steve Sexton.  But those are names from the past that don't ride centuries often or at all anymore. 

We start off and almost immediately break into two groups.   The Toms and Larry race ahead.  There is no way I am going out at that pace knowing what is in store later in the day.   Bob and John hang back with me. I am fine with that.  I am fine with riding the course alone, but I am also fine with having company. I want everyone to ride the pace they are comfortable with and to be safe and enjoy the day, the weather, the scenery.  I also know there will be one more that intends to join us at the first store stop:  Jon Wineland who is running a 10K this morning before the ride.  Jon seems to ride between paces most times often by himself even on the group ride.  

The first climb is as challenging as I remember and I think how much harder a hill is very early in a ride when  your legs and lungs have  not warmed up yet.  Still, I know this is the easier direction to climb on this road.  Climbing the other direction is longer and more difficult. Earlier this year I walked it with a rider who was cramping and did not have any regrets not having to push my legs until they ached. So who am I trying to kid?  That climb is hard in either direction and at the beginning, middle, or end of a ride. 

 

We pass an Amish Store shortly after the climb on the left that either is new or that I have not noticed in the past.  I make a mental note that it could be a store stop on a shorter course if I design one that goes in that direction.  Had I been alone, I would have stopped and explored, but I am not alone today.  From the outside, the store reminds me of the closed Mennonite Store in Lavonia other than it is closer to a city.  I mourn whenever a smaller store away from any city goes out of business.  One less oasis for the distance bicyclist that needs to refuel.  Roads become less accessible if there is nowhere to stop within thirty miles. And so many of them are now gone.  I have so many century routes that are no longer viable due to closed stores or restaurants.  

 

This morning it is not so hot, but it is humid and I know what is coming in the afternoon.  I know the pace separation is unusually big  between the two groups when we come to the first store stop and the first group is gone.  We are averaging 15.1 ourselves so I figure they are burning up the road.  I know they are all strong riders. I don't see Jon at first and wonder if he was held up, but then he appears.  He will continue with us until Otisco when he will ride back to where he started from in Madison.  

 

When we reach the lunch stop, the front group is still there.  But they have eaten and are ready to leave though they stick around to chat for a bit.  They opted to eat inside under the air conditioning, probably a smart move.  Our group buys our lunch and sits outside under a tree. All except Jon who eats outside but who brought his lunch and complains that it is still mostly frozen. I like this, the sharing of a meal outside while we temporarily loll.  Winter rides are like that.  No lolling allowed.  Ride and get in before  you get cold or the wind gets stronger or darkness imprisons you.

 

 The sandwich tastes divine though perhaps a bit too much mayo for my liking.  Bob said he likes all the heavy mayo.  I remember it was the same at the other store.  Some complained about too much mayo and some liked it.  The words to a favorite song by Mary Chapin Carpenter, "Don't Need Much to be Happy" come to mind, "Sometimes it's hard to remember how tough we are to please."  

The first group take off with Gizmo complaining of stiff "lunch legs."  There are grins on faces still and so far everyone appears to be dealing with the heat okay.  Despite the fact that they are stronger than me, as ride captain I feel responsible for their well being. Not too long afterward, we finish and  head toward LeRoy's and Lexington.  The miles pass quickly.  For some reason, I remember this course being hillier than what it is.  I keep dreading the climbs, but they never happen. There are a few rollers along the way, but no significant climbs yet.  Odd.  I remember this was my first century after returning from PBP 2007 and I remember feeling that I just might not be able to complete it causing me to realize how hard PBP was on me physically and mentally.  For a bit, the bike became a chore rather than a love. 

By the time we reach Lexington, the first group has gone.  Jon is waiting outside on the stage behind the building.  Bob and John opt to remain indoors under the air.  After buying a drink and getting ice for my water bottles, I join Jon behind the building until it is time to leave mentally dreading the climb I know is to come.  As we climb, however, I find it really is not a bad climb so either I am in better shape, going more slowly and not pressing the pace, or delusional.  Either way, I am happy not to hurt.  My legs happily are meeting the demands I am placing upon them.  Maybe it is because I have company.  Maybe it is because of the sun. Maybe it is because we are not pushing the pace.  For whatever reason, I am glad. 

Between the store and the finish, we stop to rest due to the heat.  Right before the end, about five miles out, Bob has a flat on his new wheels, something that has been plaguing him since he got the bike and that he was really hoping would not happen again as he wants to get clinchers but feels this needs to be resolved first.  He sighs as he changes the tire saying that it will mean yet another visit to Bob at Clarksville to try to figure it out.  I tell him about the wheels I got a few years ago that were not supposed to need rim tape and ask if his have rim tape.  I had about 13 flats that year until rim tape was installed whether or not they needed it.  Since it cured the problem, it was needed.  I have no idea what the issue is with his wheels, but there is definitely an issue when you have flat after flat.

And we finish.  The first group is long gone.  Jon peeled off for home at Otisco.  It was a good day.  I drive home tired but sated.  Hot and thirsty, but so glad for the heat and the sun's embrace in what, thus far, has been a rather cloudy and dismal summer.  And yeah, as always,  really glad for bicycles and friends.   

 

Solo Orleans: The Back Door with route changes

 

"It is in deep solitude that I find the gentleness with which I can truly love others. The more solitary I am, the more affection I have for them. It is pure affection, and filled with reverence for the solitude of others. Solitude and silence teach me to love others for what they are, not for what they say."

~ Thomas Merton

 

So I went to bed at my normal, early hour only to find that I was troubled about something and that sleep evaded  me.   Lloyd always used to be able to tell if something was worrying me, consciously or unconsciously, as I would not sleep well.  Finally it hit me.  Frog Pond Road was water covered during today's ride, so Medora, part of tomorrow's century ride, the third store stop, would most likely be flooded.  

So I pop out of bed, change the route on the club calendar, and do a cue sheet for a ride I had changed to try to a. take us off so many of the same roads on another version of the ride and off the state road earlier and b. stay away from areas that flood easily.  The original Orleans has Medora as a first store stop, and if there is rain it seems the road to Medora is always flooded. While I don't expect anyone to show to ride with me, one person had said she might so I felt like I needed to be prepared.  

At the start time, I take off on my own.  A part of me, of course, is disappointed that nobody else is going to ride, but oddly enough a part of me is quite glad that I am the only one to worry about with the sun and the heat predicted.  And it will give me time to think about issues in my life right now.  I think best on the bike or when doing something for some reason.  Running, I miss running because of this.  I hope the day will hold some challenges other than the heat, that the ride will become an adventure where I have to use my brain as well as my legs.  It is already quite clammy.  The news person said it is not as humid as yesterday, but despite the lack of fog today (it was quite thick yesterday), for some reason it feels more humid.  

 

Because there are new roads on this route, I am not sure what climbs there may be having not really paid much attention to the little chart at the bottom of the page, but I know the first part of the route as I have not changed it and there are a couple of nice climbs.  It is what it is.  When I need to climb, I climb.  When I am by myself, the climbs come easy.  Or should I just say easier. No need to press the pace.  Climbing is always easiest done at one's own pace.  To try to go faster or slower is difficult.  

 

I wonder about the dogs at  the top of Liberty Knob.  There are so many of them and they are always coming out.  They have never offered to bite, but biting is only part of the damage dogs can do and they act like they might bite.  If they hit your wheel, down you go.  The owner of these dogs does not care that they chase cyclists.  I have talked to him and others have talked to him.  Because there are so many dogs, one day they may, like humans, do things as a group that they would not do as individuals.  But I am not willing to yield the road and quit riding it because they have an owner who refuses to control or discipline them.  He doesn't understand, evidently, that his rights end where mine begin.  And it is a public road.

 

Today they are not too aggressive.  They come out, a pack of five from two different households, but when I stop and begin squirting my precious water at them, they back off.   I move on without being further terrorized.  

 

The quote above pops  up in Facebook when I am sitting by myself at the first store stop drinking a container of grape juice and my homemade blueberry oatmeal bar that I often take on rides.  I think it is quite appropriate for the day.  It seems such a long time since I have done a solo century.  When I retired, I had great plans that did not materialize.  But I am thankful that I can still complete them and that I have not lost my love for distance.  And I know I will spend part of the day thinking of people that ride or used to ride and how deeply I care for them.   I actually spend a good part of the day thinking about how grateful I am that I can still ride and that I am not wasting today.  I might curse the sun at times, but it is the first time in weeks where I have ridden in strong sunshine, the kind that makes the skin on your face feel tight after a ride no matter how much sunscreen you use.

 

 

On Martinsburg road, I am briefly awed by my surroundings.  At the top of the ridge I look out and see hills and trees sprawled before me.  The sides of the road hold Queen Ann's lace and the last of the Black Eyed Susans.  Sweet clover is beginning to blossom along the hedgerows.  I pass one flower whose name I don't now but I have learned is an invasive plant.  It seems I missed so much of the beauty this year.  Part of the time due to  injury, part due to weather, and part due to myself.  June slipped by without even a whisper.  And here it is July, half done.

I am surprised at how good I feel.  With having ridden a tad over fifty miles the day before, albeit at a slow pace, I thought I might have nothing in my legs.  But I am moving down the road at a reasonable pace.  

I reach the lunch stop which is near 60 miles in and sit down next to people who want to know how far I have ridden and where I am going.  They notice my Louisville Mad Dog jersey and want to know if I am riding back to Louisville.  They are astonished when I tell them I have already ridden 60 miles and have 43 left to go. They also seem to think I am a tad on the crazy side, and I am okay with that.  I have always said the distance cycling does draw a rather odd group of people together.  

So many memories flood my brain throughout the ride.  Memories with old friends and memories with new friends.  After lunch the sun really begins to feel hot, demanding his due.  My pace slows but while some of the roads are new roads I am not familiar with, I find that there is not too much climb until Salem.  I stop the store stop I have chosen for a group ride and go to the bakery.   Dessert is a brownie, thick and chocolatey.  And then home.  On the last stretch, I see what I think must be trash up ahead only to find that the rain has brought out a large group of  mushrooms.   I laugh thinking that eating them would be one way to get out of the heat, take some photos, and pedal home in love yet again with cycling and with many of my cycling friends.  It was a good day.  As I told a friend recently, we only have so many cycling days left in our cycle.  Glad I didn't waste this one. 

Bethlehem in July

"This is the power of gathering: it

inspires us, delightfully, to be more 

hopeful, more joyful, more thoughtful:

in a word, more alive." 

Alice Waters

 

 This weeks century is Bethlehem, a century generously infused with memories of countless trips with countless groups of people.  I remember how much trouble I had finding a way to punch through from Bethlehem to Hanover without encountering gravel, how I tried and failed to find a route that bordered the river, how I went into the old, closed nuclear plant that never was and became frightened being by myself after my imagination took hold and filled the empty, eerie spaces with villains.  I remember the Christmas rides, always held the first week-end in December, when we would do the route to mail our Christmas cards in Bethlehem so the postmark would read Bethlehem and they would be specially stamped.  This was the last century I had that Jim Whaley came to before his passing, and I send up a prayer hoping that he is well and putting all the hills in heaven to shame.

Now the post office is closed down.  Many of the people who rode no longer ride or are missing.  If there is one lesson that nobody can evade in this life, it is that change is constant.   No use fighting it.  Roll with it and move on.  

I am not sure how many to expect.  It is one of my easier routes and the weather is predicted to be low eighties, a sheer treat this time of year.  But there is no longer a Tour de Mad Dog and crowds at rides are smaller.  I prepare for possibly twenty and begin to worry that I will not have sufficient cue sheets as more and more roll in, but I have more than enough.  The final count is 13 with a 14th, Jon Wineland,  joining us along the route after having run in the Madison Firecracker 10K.  Some of them have ridden earlier centuries with me this year (Tom Hurst, Larry Preble, Dave King, Thomas  Nance, and Tom Askew:  some have not (Mike Crawford, Amelia Dauer, Fritz Kopatz, Tony Nall, Paul Battle, Frank Hulsman, and Dee Schreur).  

The only person I am not familiar with is Frank Hulsman, and he tells me it is his first century.  It has been awhile since I have captained a first time century rider, and I am glad he has joined us.  There is something quite special when someone rides their first century.  It has always interested me.  For some, it is a "one and done" experience.  It was a goal, they complete, they have no interest in repeating it.  For others, they fall in love with the experience and repeat it time and time again.  I suppose that is one of the best things there is about cycling......there is a niche for almost everyone and they are all good.  As for my first century, nobody shepherded me.  It was the My Old Kentucky Home Tour time trial.  I shake my head remembering Eddie Doerr, the man who suggested that I ride it, another that I have not seen for years and years.

We roll out into the cool of the morning.  Despite not driving the course, something I am just not doing this year, I am not at all concerned about this part of the route as I rode it earlier this week.  I know there are no bridges out and no road closures.  I grin thinking of Tom Hurst telling me this morning that he brought his cleat covers today as every other ride seems to have had an obstacle and he did not have his covers with him.  Perhaps it is like washing your bike:  there is no better way to ensure that you will get rained on during a ride than to wash your bike ahead of time.  By being prepared, he has doomed us to a ride with no unusual obstacles;-)

Because it is a larger group, I have no illusions about this group being cohesive and staying together.  There are enough people that faster people can pair with others who ride fast and slower people can ride at the back with me.  I have found that I have enjoyed this year and the slower paces. I do worry when I learn that Paul has forgotten his GPS in case he gets ahead of me and I worry if I programmed the detour around the gravel correctly.  Neither is a huge issue though I do learn later that while half of the group found the detour, there was a small group that navigated the gravel.  

Despite the different paces, there is not enough speed disparity that we don't regroup at store stops.  At each stop, people regroup.  Along the way I notice as I did earlier this week that the sweet clover is blooming and the Black-eyed Susan's are on full display screaming, "Notice me. Admire me for I am beautiful."  The orange day lilies are mostly gone, but there is still color in the world.  And it is still green, green and lush.  Corn and soy beans line the road in places.  It makes me feel as if somehow I misplaced June.  I spend a moment grieving my inability to slow time, to soak up every moment, every sight, to remember every joke, to clutch the sound of everyone's individual voice and laughter so as to bring it up at will.  But alas, my brain is much too small and insignificant.  Tears fill my eyes for a moment at the beauty of it all, the beauty of the people, the beauty of the landscape, the beauty of the bicycles and jerseys, and the beauty of being healthy and alive on a fine July day.  But I realize that this is not a ride to sink inward in the way that I can do at times.  There are too many people and I have responsibilities.  

 

 The ride ends with Frank successfully completing his first century to the sound of the others who kindly waited at the end, clapping and congratulating him.  His bravery is inspiring as I know the hills at the end hurt him, but he did not complain and kept the wheels turning.  The only issue the entire ride is Larry breaks a shifter cable.  Luckily, I carry an extra cable and Dave King is kind enough to help with the repair so it becomes a non-issue.  The group has inspired,  helped, and been grateful.  A good day and a good ride.  Different than others, but that is only to be expected.  Any day on the bike where everyone successfully finishes and nobody has a major accident or mechanical, well I suppose that is a good day.  We are blessed. And we are alive.

 

 

Campbellsburg Century Revisited

"You may not remember the

time you let me go first. Or the time

you dropped back to tell me it wasn't

that far to go. Or the time

you waited at the crossroads for me 

to catch up. You may not remember any

of those, but I do and this is what I have to

say to you:  "Today, no matter what it takes, 

we ride home together."

Brian Andreas

 

It is interesting, this century a week, reminding me of the early days when a few of us rode two centuries most week-ends, all of our free time spent with the bicycles, each other, and the open road.  That intensity passed.  There were other paths to travel, spouses to appease, other interests to pursue.  Despite becoming quite special, people became known, and as the saying goes, familiarity can breed contempt, or if not contempt a lack of appreciation. Life has a way of shaking things up. Change happens.  So I was not at all sure what sort of response I would get this year to scheduling a century every week-end  that I possibly could throughout the traditional touring season. 

 

So far, interest remains higher than I anticipated.  This week draws Mike Kamenish (who arrives after the start but is so strong that he quickly catches up), Larry Preble, Tom Askew, Tom Hurst, Bob Grable, and John Pelligrino, all of whom have ridden at least some of the centuries I have put on this year.  The centuries do not draw the huge crowds that the Tour de Mad Dog drew, but it harkens back to the closeness those of us who shared the roads  all those years ago knew.  Perhaps because the group is smaller.  Despite the different riding abilities, there have been rides like the last where everyone has pretty much stayed together.  So far as I know,  nobody has felt as if the pace was more than they could or wanted to handle and nobody has felt it was so slow as to be tortuous.

I have urged people to ride ahead if they feel the desire and the need, for in part I am reliving memories as I am putting on many routes that I myself designed.  This ride brings back memories of no map or GPS as I  planned the route, heading out with bicycle, pen, paper, and sidewalk chalk on that I used to mark turns on roads I was not familiar with so that I knew how to get back.  This ride brings back memories of cutting off some of my son's old tube socks to use as arm warmers as I could not afford to buy real arm warmers at the time.  It brings back memories of people that I loved who no longer ride at all or who no longer ride distance or who no longer ride with me.  And with that company, I have no fear of being alone.   But they do not drop me.  A few ride ahead, but we always regroup at stores and there is laughter and conversation as new memories are formed.  

 

I think of how when the Tour de Mad Dog began, despite differing abilities, people rode together.  It reminded me of the saying above.  Suddenly in my memory I am alone on a brevet at night in the middle of Texas after having a flat and watching the lights of the group I was riding with disappear leaving me in complete and utter darkness other than my bicycle light.  And I was afraid, not terrified, but afraid.   But it was not too long before they returned, helping, urging me on, assuring me I could fix the flat and finish, that we would finish together. And we did.  I think  of how when the Tour de Mad Dog began, fifteen people might stop and loll in the grass, talking and joking, while someone fixed a flat.  But I am brought back to the present by the riders with me. 

We arrive at the Red Barn store after the long climb.  Everyone nervously asks about the climb ahead for I have assured them it is a tough climb.  I believe that other than myself, only two have climbed it before.  I tell them of how my friend, Paul Battle, fell over on the climb.  Of the numerous people who walked, unable to turn the pedals due to the steepness.  I tell them of how you are riding along in a valley and suddenly you will see trees arching over the roadway, darkening the entrance to the climb, as if foreshadowing what is to come.  But we climb it and arrive at Little Twirl for lunch.  Some say they read a 26 percent grade, others a bit less, but everyone agrees it was a tough climb.  

 

Then we hit the head wind from hell and endure it for numerous miles before making the turn for a crosswind and lunch. As I take my turn pulling, I think that the headwind is as strong as was predicted and wonder about those of us who chose to ride in it rather than stay home with our feet propped up.  But despite the challenge, or perhaps to some extent because of the challenge, we are having a good time. 

I am concerned about how the food at Little Twirl will  be as I have not eaten there for some time, but the concern is needless.  While it does not have the healthiest selection of foods, it tastes good, particularly in comparison to some of the fine sidewalk dining at gas stations I have done over the years.   Little Twirl was the original store stop, before the Mennonite Store that came and is now closed.  It used to be open all year long, but now it opens only spring through fall.  New ownership.  Everything changes.

We leave and resume our journey into the headwind knowing that it is about to come to an end, and as we turn onto Beck's Mill it does.  At Beck's Mill, however, we find that the road is closed as the bridge is being rebuilt.  Workmen are busy.  Tom Askew is brave enough and persuasive enough that we are permitted to pass with the recommendation that we carry our bikes because of nails.  As I carry my bike, I wonder about how nail repellent cycling shoes are, but I don't bring it up.  Nobody gets a nail in their foot and I heave a sigh of relief.  And Larry gives Tom a Mad Dog name, Ambassador.  The naming of dogs, well, as T. S. Eliot says about cats, is serious business.  And it has been awhile since a Mad Dog has earned a name.  We are all grateful that the Ambassador saved our tired legs extra miles.  Nobody complains which is good because I did warn everyone I had not driven or ridden the route ahead of time.  

At one point, and I can't remember exactly when, we all do a double take when passed by an Amish couple on bicycles.  She has her bonnet and her dress on and he is also dressed traditionally.  No helmets.  I didn't look but I feel certain no cleats.  But they are both intent on their cycling and look to be as fast as the wind. I have run into Amish cycling once before, a number of years ago, but it was a group of young Amish men. 

And then we are at the end.  No Dog has been left behind this day though one of our number began to get leg cramps from the heat.  But he persevered and finished.  I suspect that now he has adapted to the heat, he will be fine.  And what a wonderful day it was.  Perhaps I can give back a bit of what I have been given, for there have been many rides when others could have gone on and left me but chose not to. "No matter what it takes, we ride home together."

 

 

Short Frankfort: Century of the Week 2021

"What makes something special

is not just what you have to gain,

but what you feel there is to lose."

Andre Agassi 

 

The night before the ride, I wonder if the century will be a go as there is talk of severe thunderstorms and high winds, but things sound a bit better in the morning with most of the bad weather staying north.  So I leave early for the ride start as it is quite a drive for me.   I am looking forward to the ride.   It has been awhile since I have ridden these roads.  Since I am playing with centuries this year, I am trying to vary the ride starts so it is not always a long drive for the same people, but when I think about it the participation has mostly been varied this year.  And today is no different.  There are five of us that are going to ride, and only three of us have done a century this year.  Tom Askew, Larry Preble, Gail Blevins, Trey (last name unknown), and I head out into the cool of the morning well aware that it will not last and is supposed to get into the ninties.

At first I think that the group will split early into two groups because of the different ability/fitness levels, but it turns out to be one of those special days when everyone seems content to ride together and enjoy each other's company.  There seems to be no rush to get anywhere or to finish.  We proceed not at a break neck pace, but we aren't crawling along either. People  talk to each other for a bit, then talk to someone else in the group, and when the group does split a bit on a hill or when someone is feeling their oats, they  stop and allow the others to catch up and regroup.  

 

I love these types of rides, the rides where there is just the company, the scenery, the challenges, and the bicycles.  The type of ride where nobody is in a hurry, where everyone seems to know that no matter their level of expertise of fitness, what is important is the overall experience of the ride:  the sound of conversation, some serious, some frivolous, the sound of laughter, the sound of wheels turning, the look of smiles on faces, the startling greenness and lushness that surrounds us, the feel of the wind caressing our faces,  the wonder of being alive and being on a bicycle.  I hold these things close, treasure them, memorize them, hoping to use them as a shield when the day comes when I can no longer participate.   As Agassi says, I am gaining from this ride, but the appreciation also comes from knowing what I, and the others, will eventually lose.  I send up a silent prayer pleading not yet, not soon, well aware of my selfishness for I have been given so much.  How grateful I am for this day and these riders.  How cognizant I am that these types of rides can't be forced.  They either happen or they don't.

Despite the temperature being in the nineties, the  cloud cover and wind make it seem like it really is not overly hot.  Even the long climb into Frankfort, not steep but long, does not seem overly demanding.  The only disappointment is, upon arriving at Qdoba, the traditional lunch stop for the Short Frankfort, they are not open due to staffing issues.  We eat, instead, at Panera where Gail keeps everyone in stitches throughout the meal.  I don't know if she realizes how funny she is, but everyone is giggling and enjoying themselves.  Larry takes photos.  As for me, I try to make an image to retain in my mind.   I try to memorize the sounds of their laughter, the timbre of their voices, the ways their  lips curve when they smile.  And I know, despite the fact nothing unusual has happened, that I will remember this day and this ride.  

Perhaps if all rides were like this, they would not be so special.  They would become ordinary...mundane...repetitive.  But most rides are not like this, not with the differing levels of ability.  Like everyone else, I have days when I want to ride  hard, to feel my lungs heave and gasp for oxygen, to feel my muscles burn, and other days when I want to poke along at a snail pace, stop and take photos, lollygag.  But for now I am glad for this day, for these people, and for bicycles.  It is practically guaranteed that I will, eventually, lose contact with most if not all of them.  I have watched it happen before.  It seems a lot to lose. The thought makes my heart ache,  but oh, how much I have gained from this day.  And I am grateful:  grateful for the laughter, for the camaraderie, for our health, and this gray day that sheltered us from heat that could easily have stolen the laughter and turned it into curses.  Once again I am grateful for bicycles.