The Kentucky 600 K Brevet

I really wasn't sure what to expect with this brevet. Yes, I have done the distance before, but I had heard horror tales of the course, particularly the last 200K. 386 miles seems such a long way sometimes. Also, I am older, and I know that I am not as physically fast or as strong as I was three or four years ago. Something in me longed to conquer the course, but something in me equally as strong was afraid to make the attempt, afraid to fail. I think that so often in my life I have robbed myself of success because of a fear of failure, but with age I have come to believe that failure is part of success giving it a savory tang it would otherwise lack.

Perhaps, however, as Marianne Williamson said in her quote often attributed to Mandela: "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." I ask myself if I could be afraid of success? I don't think so, but who knows. Life is confusing sometimes. That is one thing that I have always liked about running or cycling: it gives me time to puzzle on things that I really don't understand. Sometimes I wonder about the people I ride with and their willingness to tolerate me when they seem so smart and I am just me, not particularly stupid, but not exceptionally smart. Despite the fact the most of the them are younger, they seem so worldly. But back to the brevet.

Despite Susan's kind offer to allow me to stay all night at her home because it is so much closer to the ride start, I decided to stay at the hotel so that I could get settled in and have everything laid out for Saturday and Sunday. That way all I would have to do on Saturday evening would be to bathe and sleep before heading out again Sunday morning. It also allows me to get an extra hour of sleep.

On Friday after work, I went down to the motel and registered for the brevet after gathering my things at home after work and packing them in the car. Part of the fun of riding a brevet is the planning and packing and getting the bicycle ready. All went well until after I had taken my bath and was in my night gown. It was then that I realized I had forgotten to bring deodorant. With a heat prediction in the nineties the next day, there was no way I was going out on that ride with no deodorant. The guys later chuckled at this saying no deodorant would help in the intense heat that washed us in sweat before the sun even came up. I hope that they are not implying that I smell all the time;-) Anyway, I got dressed again and drove out into the night in search of deodorant so I would not affect the sensibilities of those I ride with or my own nose.

Morning came all to early and I felt grouchy. Normally when I set an alarm clock, I awaken a few minutes before it rings or my furry alarm clock pats me with her paw. If there is anything that I hate in the morning is the sound of an alarm clock. I don't normally mind getting up, but I always mind the ringing that assaults my ears and makes my heart race. Why can't someone invent an alarm clock that gently rubs my back or kisses me gently behind my ear or on my neck or cheek or that strokes my hair the way my husband used to do when I stayed home with the children and he would leave for work, back when we were young? It is a much more satisfactory way to greet the morning, sliding gently into consciousness. But I suppose nobody can build something to replace the love that grows between two people and that is expressed through touch. People talk about their fear of losing hearing or eyesight, and I agree those would be too terrible to contemplate, but losing the sense of touch would also be an unbearable sorrow. Walk through a nursing home and watch the people reaching to pat and rub: an unmet human need that haunts the elderly.

On brevet morning, my internal alarm fails and I am awakened by the piercing ringing of the motel phone with a wake up call. I begin to get ready only to find my camel back valve appears to be leaking. This is disturbing as I know dehydration will be a constant battle and I drink more with the camel back. I particularly worry about tomorrow as there are so few stores on the course. I think I have fixed it only to find a few miles out that I am wrong. The water quickly soaks my shorts, gloves, and shoes. It doesn't feel badly as it is already hot and humid at 4:00 a.m. but I remain damp all day from the humidity. The air is close and muggy, like breathing syrup, the entire day. Sweat beads on my arms and legs as if I were a freshly waxed car in the rain.

I ride the first 30 miles or so with Bill, mostly in silence. I have not had my normal morning coffee, and I can tell it. If Bill had tried to get me to talk much, he would have been able to tell it. Luckily, he is okay with silence. I also just could not make myself eat breakfast. Before the first store, we hit a dip in the road that I was unprepared for but luckily I only lose my grip with one hand. We pass the first available store without stopping. At that point, we catch up with Chris. Bill pulls ahead and Chris and I ride a bit together, something that is unusual because he is a much faster rider than I. He later tells me he has decided to ride conservatively because of the weather and a healthy respect for cramps. I soon fall behind only to be caught by Steve and Dave. Before long, Bill falls back and joins the group. We will spend much of the ride together. It is interesting to me how one or the other of us will pull away for awhile, but we always seem to catch each other for a good part of the ride. I trust each of these riders.

The hours pass and I watch the dawn greet the earth. The sun blushes behind thick clouds which is probably what saves me on what turns out to be a difficult day. The sweat just does not evaporate from my skin, and I can't seem to drink enough to quench the terrible thirst that assaults me. At the first store stop, I have to force myself to eat. While I have been riding with others, I have been fighting black thoughts in my head and questioning my decision to do this ride. I question if I want to go to Paris again. I question if I even want to go to Texas again. I think of how I would feel if I just sold each and every bike that sits in my home begging to be ridden. Another rider joins us and I almost lash out when he attempts to pass me while a car is passing causing the car to squeal its tires. Under my breath I cuss; in my mind I think "Idiot, don't put me at risk by doing something stupid," but I keep my peace. I then begin to giggle at the thought of Bill and Steve's reaction if I actually had said something out loud.

Finally we reach the turn around point and I consider a good sign that I am hungry. It is never a good sign not to want to eat on a long ride. We have lunch and I feel better than I have all day. I am able to smile as we head out, maybe because of a full belly or maybe because I know this days riding is half done. We have not gotten too far before a car slows and tell us a rider up ahead has had a bad accident. We ride perhaps another mile and come upon a rider who says he went off the road. He has a bump and abrasions on his head, his shorts are torn, and his knees are bleeding. He appears confused. At first he says he wants to continue, but I point out that he would be riding at night without his glasses and the others help convince him it is not a good decision. We spend quite some time arranging for another rider's wife to come and pick him up as he is from far away and has no way back to the start. I give him my cell phone as he does not have one and ask him to leave it at the motel desk.

We head back out. Before we get too far, I realize I have given away my only chance of rescue if I should need help. I can always borrow a phone, but my daughter's new cell phone number is safely programmed into the phone that I just gave away. There are so many numbers in my life that I have all but given up remembering them all. It takes me five different passwords to get into work and on the computer. There is my bank number. There are telephone numbers and RUSA numbers. The heat once again begins to take its toll and I fall back. Dave drops back as well and pulls. When I tell him to go ahead, he tells me he is tired and can't go any faster. I know he is being kind, but I accept the pull. As we near Crittendon, out hopes sky rocket as the sky appears dark and promises rain. Drats, only a little sprinkle on us though it is evident that there had been rain here shortly before we came. I begin to wonder if God is punishing me for something. Seeing as I do so many bad things, it would be hard to pick which one, but the idea haunts me and lines from Thomas Hardy fill my mind. This is not a good sign as I always found Hardy to be rather depressing At the stop, I tell everyone I am a bit tired and not to feel badly about dropping me and going on.

Somehow I manage to stay with the group and we finally pull into the Waffle House at a tad after 11:00 p.m. We go in to get something to eat and I tell Dave and Bill that I am thinking of DNFing. I am shivering as I make myself eat the eggs and sausage I ordered. Rudely, when I finish, I leave the two of them sitting there to go to my room. I tell them not to worry if I don't show up in the morning: it will mean that I decided not to continue or to leave later than the 5:00 a.m. start time we had decided upon earlier. As I leave, Steve pulls in having dropped back a bit and asks if I have any butt paste. I tell him I will leave it outside my door.

At the motel, I ask for my cell phone and it is waiting. I decide that I will wake up and see how I feel before making a decision. I get to my room, insert the key, and nothing happens. I go to the office and get another key. I return to my room, insert the key, and nothing happens. By this time, I am almost crying. I paid for a room and I want in there. I want a bath. I want a bed. The manager brings the master key and a lock cleaner and finally is able to open the room. Meanwhile, he gives me Steve Royse's brevet card saying he found it laying in the drive when he came to work.

I ask for a 4:15 a.m. wake up call. This leaves me plenty of time to drink a couple cups of coffee and make the decision whether or not to continue. This course is knows as being difficult, with the last day being harder than the first. This time my internal clock awakens me and I decide to continue my quest to conquer this course. We take off into the night. I am using my new light and it seems to do a good job of lighting the road, but by 6:00, the sun is coming up. The days starts cloudy with a 70 degree dew point and I begin to question my decision, but early in the ride, right after leaving Lockport, there is a cold, cold rain. Being hot, I would have thought it would feel good, but I know if it soaks me I will be shivering and cold. Steve suggests we shelter in a barn. It is old and filled with old tobacco that never made it to market. The construction interested me as the frame was just constructed of trees. The one by the door is getting ready to give way having cracked near the middle. But the barn holds until the rain passes and we are back on our way.

The scenery this day is breathtaking, but the entire route has been either up or down hill. Incredibly, I find I am feeling pretty good and even look forward to the Lockport challenge. I am tired, but my legs seem to accept that more is going to be asked of them and the dark thoughts I have fought begin to recede. I also am very glad I have a triple on this bike and say a prayer of thanks that I didn't let them talk me into a compact crank.

The hills out of Lockport come and go before I know it, and we are sitting in McDonald's about 16 miles from the end. Everyone looks exhausted, but everyone still can smile. I laugh and say that there is definitely something wrong with us doing something like this. Steve smiles and points out that not only did we do it, but we paid to do it. This strikes me as even funnier.

I end the ride with Bill as Steve and Dave race ahead. I feel a sense of pride in not giving in, and I know that I partially owe this to the men that allow me to ride with them. This has been a hard brevet. There was a small crowd, and of the small crowd, four were unable to finish for one reason or the other. But once again I have surprised myself. At the end Susan is waiting and she looks so very pretty and refined. I think how lucky Steve is to have her waiting for him. Still I am glad I am covered in grease from fixing my chain when it slipped off and covered with sweat from my efforts. Before you know it, I am on my way home hoping to hear that I have made it into the 1000K. Picture courtesy of Steve Rice.

Watching the Earth Give Birth

For a week or longer I have been torn between seeing my friends and doing the group ride or riding on my own. There are many friends I feel I have not seen in forever, but spring is such a short season and is so very lovely and the group ride is in town. It just seems like too much to bear. Friends will still be there; the last of the daffodils and forsythia will not. I make my final decision sometime while I sleep. I can't miss the spring and watching the earth give birth.

When I awaken, I sit and drink my morning coffee while the washing machine washes the sheets I will hang out before leaving this morning. I am not sure where I want to go, but I finally decide on Orleans. Early in the ride I thought I was going to get another bike when two German Shepherds came out and would not listen to their owner. I worried about flooding, but when 700 was dry figured I had it made. Somewhere on the way to Medora, I see a barn with two old, old bicycles leaning against it as decoration. I pass the round barn. But then, the flood waters before I get to the covered bridge.

Hey, it is okay. I have my handy, dandy GPS and I have always wondered where a certain road goes, so I turn around. I know if I head west I will eventually find a way across the White River. I ride and the way I want to go has a sign posted that the bridge is out, so I turn another direction only to have that road end in gravel. I pass some bee hives and stop to photograph them for my husband. I decide to see if the bridge is possibly nearly finished. Wrong. This bridge was built in 1900 and is permanently closed. While I am taking a picture, a car pulls up and a young woman gets out. She tells me she has walked the bridge and offers to hand my bike over. The kindness of a stranger warms me. She walks the bridge with me and hands my bike over the second barrier. I offer to pay her for lunch, but she declines. When she hears how far I intend to ride and where I have ridden from, she is amazed. I can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday.

I head on toward Buffalo Bottoms. The red bud is fully in bloom and the dogwood is awakening, blinking at the sun and opening wide. Everything is still so green. Wildflowers cover the route. I have no idea where I am and it is wonderful. I had forgotten how much I love wandering when there is time and the weather is nice. In five or six miles, I come upon some roads I know and decide to consider Orleans. I have missed Medora, my first stop, and I would like something to eat. Normally I am better prepared than I am today. When I figure the miles, however, it would turn the ride into a 200K and so I modify my route. At one point I pass a pond with two logs that catch my attention. As I look more closely, I see turtles sunning themselves on the logs. When I stop, most of them slip into the water, but not all. I manage to catch a few on film before moving on.

I finally get something to eat and drink in Salem at the seventy mile mark. This does not bode well for me as tomorrow is another ride, but what was I to do. On the way home, I check out Franklin Bottoms but it also is flooded. Even this has its own kind of beauty. "~ Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world. ~" Virgil Kraft

Kentucky 300 K Brevet 2010

I am unsettled about the brevet today. You know the feeling you get when you think you have forgotten something, but you can't quite put your finger on what it is. Maybe it is because rather than my normal pre-brevet activities, I helped my daughter move yesterday and didn't get to do much more than slap some lights on my bike. Maybe it is because the weather prediction keeps changing to include stronger and stronger winds. While some of my most memorable rides have been in wind that roared and ripped through the countryside like an angry bull, I have learned to respect the wind. When I arrive, Johnny tells me it should be a tail wind out and a head wind home. I would prefer the opposite, but not being God I have no say in the matter. My only choice is whether to ride or not, and of course I am going to ride.

I am glad to find that Susan is going to ride as well. So often I am the only woman and it is a nice change to have company. Riding alone does not bother me during the day. At night, however, I worry that I will not be seen as easily. Also, I just don't see as well as I used to and these roads are not the familiar roads of home. I do love rolling out into the early morning darkness wondering what the day will bring and watching daylight slowly seep into the world while the morning sounds titillate my ears, rolling wheels and the noise of switching gears mixed in with frogs and crickets and early rising birds. I figure we will have about an hour in the dark this morning as the ride starts at 6:00 a.m. and probably an hour or so at the end of the day.

At the ride start, one person who registered the previous evening does not show and I wonder if the wind scared him off. The Kentucky brevet series is a hard series and wind will not make it easier, but in 2007 I was very glad for the difficulties that I overcame in the series as it was good preparation for what I ended up facing in Paris. I hope it is the wind and not an accident or other problem that kept him from the bike.

It is strange to think of Bill, Steve, and Dave riding ahead since I normally ride with them except for the brevet series. It is a treat to have Susan ride: females in this area don't seem to be drawn to brevets. I wonder to myself how much longer I will enjoy the physical challenges that brevet riding inevitably brings. As we ride, Susan and I share the beauty of spring unfolding her carpet of flowers passing splashes of daffodils and forsythia on a green background. It is so good to see green and color again that it almost makes me cry. Susan notes the first red bud tree blooms and my heart rejoices. I think of a favorite Emerson quote, "Earth laughs in flowers." At one point, there is a field of purple flowers that tinge the entire field. I don't know the name of the plant, but I do know that bees love it. I found this out the hard way while removing it from my garden one spring, something the bees did not approve. While we have numerous hives at our home, I think that is the angriest little bee I have ever seen, and she got me good between my eyes.

We come upon a huge Dan Henry and Steve Royse photographing it. Susan also takes a photograph. It is good to see Steve and to hear he enjoyed his son's visit. I rarely see him anymore except at brevets, but he remains someone whose company I enjoy and who haunts my memories at times. We talk for awhile of politics and the sky begins to spit rain. At that point, we don garbage bags. I search for the one I know I packed, but I can't find it. Steve is nice enough to give me one of his.

Before we reach the turn around, the wind picks up. I remember all the tricks I learned through trial and error bicycling Ike, but there are times I wonder if I will remain upright. I worry about Susan as she has less weight than I do to keep her on the road. The wind tugs at our front wheels daring us to try to stay upright on the road. We accept her challenge and inch forward. Susan later tells me she sees the wind rip siding off an outbuilding. I see a trash can blown into the road. Every part of my mind and body is engaged in staying on the bike, avoiding road debris, and keeping the bike on the road. Passing driveways we get sandblasted. It is scary, but is also exhilarating. It is wonderful to feel alive, to be alive, and I know that I will remember this ride and this feeling. Every sense tingles as if I am being shocked.

When we reach the turn around, we are surprised to find Steve, Bill, and Dave still there. They have already eaten. They leave a bit before we do. We decide to wait until the next control to eat. We tell them briefly about "go go man" and the "little hill." We manage to reach the last control about an hour before sundown. At this control, the wind finally dies down. I am surprised at how well I feel though my right inner thigh keeps wanting to cramp up. Normally I can keep from stopping by alternating spinning with standing, and today this works.

We reach the last control before dark. The clouds have been chased by the wind and the sun is shining. We decide to buy some cotton gloves to wear to protect us from the increasing cold. From this point on, Susan knows the roads. It remains fairly light until State Road 55 or 53, I can't remember the route number for sure. By now the wind has finally died down and we ride a rather quick pace to get off of this road to one less heavily traveled. By now we are talked out, but we ride in companionable silence. I appreciate that quality in a person, the ability to share an experience without necessarily verbally processing it the entire time. Sometimes it is good just to feel, to experience the ride and the way the air brushes your cheeks, to hear the sounds that populate the world.

We finally reach the end. Susan says it is the hardest ride she has ever done. I know that she will remember this ride even if our lives diverge to the point where we never see each other again, as will I. It was nice to have a companion, to share an experience with someone you like. I am glad to know that while I was ready to reach the end, my legs felt strong enough to ride further for the 400K mocks me from a not to far distance.

On Loss and Love of a Beloved Pet

Yesterday I was out of town and got a call that my cat once again was barely able to walk. I had just taken her to the animal ER the following Sunday after returning from Texas, and now my daughter was following my tracks. I feel so helpless, so far away, but I have family responsibilities that have called me away from home as well. When they ring me, my husband tells me he does not think she will return from the ER this time, and I feel as if I have let her down by not being there.

I have had this cat for 16 years. The children and I picked her out from a now defunct pet store. When I brought her home she was covered with fleas and half dead. She developed runny stools and to this day I believe it was my husband and not the vet who saved her life partially by taking her off the medications the vet had prescribed. She was so small he would tuck her in the pocket of his shirt and carry her around to keep her warm. When she got a tad bigger and feeling better, she would climb his tree as if it were a tree trunk to reach his arms. He was leery of my getting another animal knowing how I suffered with the loss of previous pets, particularly my beloved Pupik, and because of his own vulnerability to attachment. It is hard to lose what you love. Today as I write this, part of me thinks he is right.

Kitti soon wormed her furry little way into all of our hearts. At first she was partial to my husband, but she then took up with me and has been my constant companion at bath time, while doing chores, and at bedtime. My daughter showed her at the 4-H cat show and won. Kitti rode my shoulder like a parrot at times or would wrap herself around my neck while I sat at the computer or while I was doing household chores. When I had the flu one time and was so very ill, she guarded my bed and kept me company the entire time, refusing to leave me except when one of the others fed her or she had to use the kitten's room. She became my furry alarm clock that always kept me on time at work. Mostly, she became a beloved family member. I will miss how she misses me when I am gone and how she pretends to be angry at me for leaving for just a few moments when I return as if to say, "I'll forgive you this time, but don't let it happen again." At home we joke about how she does not approve when her servants go missing for any period of time.

There are too many memories and too much love to recount on paper. Sometime or another, she suffered a back injury. We don't really know what happened, but it is beginning to cause nerve impingement and arthritis that is affecting her ability to walk and use the kitten's room. Right now rest is helping, but it seems to be happening more frequently. I had accepted that the kidney problem would end her life rather early, but now find that it will more likely be the spinal cord injury.

Yesterday, she made it home. When the time comes, I will not have her leave this world alone if possible so that she is not so very frightened, but I dread the moment when I must say that final goodbye. And I will suffer a loss that will haunt me for the rest of my life and that nobody can assuage: only time. This will serve as my notice to the world that I love this purry, furry little being and I will be forever grateful to her for her presence in my life. I only hope she understands how much I love her. My comfort must be that she had a good life with our family.

The vet says to try to keep her from jumping so today my husband and I will attempt to jump proof her favorite perches. He is building stairs for her to use for her chair and my bed. I had bought step stools before and she would not use them, but hopefully I can train her to the stairs. Here's hoping for another year or two at least.

Texas Hell Week: Day 7, Blanco

Today it is Dave, Steve, Bill, and I on a ride that is not one of the scheduled rides. I am afraid of the wind as the prediction is for 15-25 mph. winds all day and I have no cue sheet, but I trust the men I am with not to leave me behind. Once we cross Highway 290, the endless hills begin, but the sweeping vistas with their mixtures of green and brown are a sight. If I had to pick the three most scenic rides, it would be this ride, Windows on Dos, and the Death Ride. Again and again the hills assault my legs, and again and again my eyes reassure them that it is worth it. I think that it reminds me of PBP, this endless going up or going down with no flat land. Interestingly, Dave later says he had the same thought.

I am amazed at how quickly this week has slipped through my fingers and it feels as if we have just arrived, but my legs tell me differently. I am sad, but I also am beginning to be homesick for the familiar.

Before lunch, a dog jumps the fence and runs out after us. I am amazed at how much strength there are in the old legs after all. The guys laugh at me and ask me what was the rush. At lunch, I opt for the special and not the cheeseburger. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't as good as a cheeseburger would have been. Next year, I am eating like the guys and damn the consequences;-) After lunch, we don't stop to see the dinosaur footprints in the creek bed that Bill is sure are not real. Teasing him, I point out that it says they are real in a book. This really gets him going and he makes me laugh and laugh.

At the last store, Dave says he is not feeling so well and is going to finish slowly. Later, when he is pulling at about 20 mph, I tell him I am darned glad he decided not to finish at a fast pace. We all slow up for the rest of the trip in. We pass the peach trees again who blush pink at our passing. At the hotel, I begin to pack for the long trip home. Texas, until next year.

Hell Week Day 6: Windows on Doss

Today it is just Bill, Steve, and I. We are not sure that this is the group ride, but I ask to do it as it is always one of my favorites, at least the first part of the ride. If I remember correctly, this was the first Texas ride I ever did, and I remember the feel of the sun on my shoulders and the comradeship. It was the first Texas century I completed on my fixed gear, and occasionally as I climb hills today I will wonder at our audacity and success in doing so. Oh, the things I let these boys talk me into doing.

Suddenly Bill, Steve, and I are the subjects of a photo shoot. The car photographs us, drives ahead, stops and photographs us again and again. At one point, it really begins to be a bit annoying and I am glad when they stop. Evidently the photographs are for a German cycling magazine. I wish I had a copy of a couple of the shots as I am not a good photographer and I am not capable of taking photos while riding anyway.

The roads on this ride wind over cattle guards and down little used roads. The live oaks again amaze me with the beauty in their tortured forms. The pace is nice and relaxed: we have no place to go. I begin to grow melancholy about the end of this adventure.

At the first store stop, we run into the Gregs, Joe, Jeff, and Lynn. Greg and Joe have told me that tonight there will be a Big Dog gathering at the brewery. I don't believe I have ever been there. I know I will not gather the courage to go and that I have a million excuses to serve me. Part of me wants to go, but part of me knows that it would be like torture. When I see the photos of all the people I don't know, I am glad that I don't go and don't have to worry about how I stammered and babbled like an idiot girl.

Later in the ride Steve comes upon a cow, quite large and quite black, that is not at all sure that it wants to share the road. It glares, but gives in moving enough for him to pass and the rest of us to follow. We decide to cut the Lukenbach loop off of the ride as we have all been there. It is scenic and I have some fond memories of the place, particularly during one brevet when it was cold and rainy and the pot belly stove was pouring out heat and the guitars were pouring out love songs, but I have no strong desire to return right now.

After the ride we head to the Enchanted Inn for one last Mexican meal. We talk about tomorrow and decide that rather than the group rides, we are going to ride to Blanco for a cheeseburger. (Yes, it's all about the food;-) This is Mike's last night with us. Tomorrow he is flying home, but he tells us he is already planning on returning next year. The rest of us all know we will return next year, God and pocket books willing.

Texas Hell Week Day 5: Leakey Death Ride

Yesterday we did not ride due to cold, wet weather and perhaps a touch of wimpiness. This morning I arise early to meet Steve and Dave for the trip to the donut shop and then on to Bandera for the death ride. We travel in companionable silence through the dark to the park where the ride starts. Bill and Mike are meeting us there.

We arrive at the park right when dawn is beginning to lighten the sky. It is cold outside, and other than a quick bathroom trip, we huddle waiting in the van trying to decide what to wear. Learning that Bill and Mike are only doing the 80 mile ride, I worry about my ability to maintain the pace and keep up with Dave and Steve. After this ride, we always drive to Waring for Steak Night, and it would make me feel awful if I was too slow and we did not arrive in time.

Bill and Mike drop early in the ride as we pace line towards the first store stop in Vanderpool. There is a significant climb before the store, and many more afterward. The scenery is crazy beautiful. We are the first to reach Vanderpool, but a group pulled in not long after us. Steve takes off for the start of the two climbs to Leakey. I know the next 15 miles are hard ones. Still the climbing goes well and it seems only a short time before we are at the next store stop. Traditionally, and this year is no different, we have barbecue at this stop.

The rest of the ride went too quickly. We meet Greg S., Jeff P., Greg Z., and Joe C. in Tarpley, but we head out before them. Near the end, the guys are revving up for the last green sign. I just don't have the desire or energy, but I am able to keep them in sight and catch up before the end of the ride. Bill and Mike are waiting at the end. On to DQ and then steak night.

I am starving. Everyone laughs at how quickly I finish my meal and am on to dessert. Hmmm. Wonder if they had THREE older brothers to compete with;-) It didn't feel to me as if we rode as hard as we did last year, but a great day.