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!"

Thoughts on a Morning Commute

"Don't get hit," my husband says as I walk out the door for my commute, a gentle reminder that I am loved that will hug me tightly filling me with an inner warmth for a few moments.  Despite the fact that he is not comfortable with my commuting when it is no longer light in the mornings he has helped as I  put the lights that guided me through PBP 2007 back on my Trek to light my way through the early morning darkness that comes with the shortening days heralding winter.  Red lights blinking, I cautiously head toward town and the east.  Morning coolness surrounds me and despite the fact that it is August and will be ablaze with warmth later this day, I briefly shiver, my arms covered with goosebumps. I think of how I would like to be headed somewhere other than work, of how I would much rather go exploring, but responsibility corrals my longings and I try to appreciate the fact that I have work to head toward:  not everyone these days is so fortunate.  There is a comfort in knowing that my labor is expected and needed, and that I will be recompensed in more ways than the small financial benefit I reap.  Still, the world would be a happier place if there were no need for a child welfare worker.  But this world will never be safe from people who don't realize the greatness of the gift they are given when they are blessed with children.

Fog covers the earth like a blanket, a gossamery silver that shimmers in the light thrown by my head lamps.  In the east, blushing rose pink the morning shyly kisses the shoulders of earth's horizon, stunning beautiful and full of promise.  The sounds of morning, while not the joyful, raucous sounds of spring time, still permeate the air:  not yet the dead silence that is winter.  Passing a corn field, I hear the sounds of the dry leaves shuddering at the passing of a gentle breeze, and I think that soon it will be harvest, at least for those whose corn bore fruit despite the drought.  Being a gardener, I have experienced first hand the disappointment of hard work that bears no fruit.  But perhaps that is what makes those times that we harvest that much sweeter.  I think of the jars of canned tomatoes on my basement shelf waiting for winter to bring the warmth of summer back for the tiniest moment to the dinner table. 

After my husband's open heart surgery, my canned tomatoes were the only thing that tasted good to him for the longest time, and I am never comfortable going into a winter without them, a talisman against the bad things that happen to us.  Last year I did not can as I had no garden, but despite the drought this years planting bore fruit and I took the time to capture it.  Lines of jars bursting with bright redness line my cellar walls.  I think that it is these little things that I will miss if I outlive him, something entirely possible with the age difference, these acts of love.  I can tomatoes that I rarely eat and he puts lights on bicycles that he will never ride. 

All too soon I arrive and it is time to put such thoughts behind me.  Tomorrow I will have to drive because of the days plans, but today is just a bit better than it would have been otherwise as I watched the world awakening.

Marengo Mangler

This is what I posted on line prior to the century ride on July 4th, 2012:

July 4th Century: The Mangler

01 Jul 2012 6:22 PM | Melissa Hall

Like Kirk, I am not canceling my Wednesday ride, the Mangler, unless there is active lightening.  Unlike Kirk's ride, however, the Mangler is "a hard ass club ride." This ride has more climbing than the Crestwood Killer and most of it is during the first 1/2 of the ride.   I rode 104.8 miles today on a relatively easy course, so this is how it is going to be on Wednesday:

1.  If you normally ride a 7-8 hour century including stops, I suggest you plan on 9.5 to 10.5 hours on Wednesday or riding ahead of the ride captain. I am fine if you drop me.  Since I designed this route, I can find my way home.  If you haven't been completing a regular club century in 7-8 hours including stop time, you have no business showing up at the ride.  Come out another day when it is cooler and you have picked up your speed a bit.
2.  I reserve the right to call the ride at the first store stop turning it into a 50 miler if people are feeling badly.  That being said, I will ask if anyone wants to take over as ride captain before calling the ride and turning around.  I expect to hear no whining that you drove all the way to Memphis to the start if I turn people around and you don't volunteer to take over.  You have been warned.  Besides that, I excel at whining and I doubt you can outdo me in this area.
3.  What I found today was that I stopped at every store that was open and hydrated.  They weren't long stops, just long enough to down a drink.  I intend to ride that way Wednesday. That being said, I can only think of a couple of additional places where stores MAY be available on Wednesday.
4.  I occasionally walked a tough hill that I would normally climb and I also stopped and rested at the top of a couple of climbs. Yet again, I intend to do this Wednesday if I feel like it. Lolling in the grass can be extremely pleasant.  Getting back on the bike can be extremely tough.
5.  You can ride ahead if you would like, but I am riding at a reasonable pace where my tongue is not hanging out of the side of my mouth and my breathing does not sound like that of a obscene phone caller.
6.  Two water bottles will not be enough. Bring more or a camel back.  Remember the need for salt.
7.  Consider bringing a tube sock to make an ice sock for your neck.
8.  I will ask any rider who appears to be not prepared not to ride.  You should have been acclimating by riding shorter, hilly rides in the heat.  I have never told a rider they could not ride before on a club ride, but it the right of a ride captain to do it.  This includes cutting you lose if necessary or asking you to turn around if you start and appear unable to complete the ride safely.
9.  There is no sag service.  If you have any doubts as to your ability to finish, and you are wise if you do, have a back up plan for someone to sag you in.

__________________________________________________________________________

When I scheduled the Marengo Mangler for July 4th I expected it to be hot, but I certainly didn't expect predicted temperatures to exceed 100 degrees.  When we did this century the prior year, there were five of us and I was asked to schedule it again on the same day due to our enjoyment of the 4th of July celebration in Pekin as we passed through, but the heat keeps everyone in that group away other than Steve "Meat" Dog Meredith. And there you have it, the ride is on the schedule and it is supposed to be around 100 degrees with a feel like temperature of 105 degrees combined with poor air quality.   I am concerned about who might show up and even my own ability to deal with this extreme heat.  I question whether I should cancel. Instead I am very blunt in my posts about the ride in an attempt to deter the unprepared.  I rode a century in this heat three days prior by myself to evaluate and to equip myself to advise, but it is different when the decision is only for oneself. Most of the climbing in this ride happens in the first fifty miles, but it is so very hot and it is a LOT of climbing. The evening before the ride I read up on heat exhaustion and how to treat it.

Three other people show up for the ride and I decide to continue to the first store stop and see how everyone is doing before making the decision whether or not to continue or turn around. I know two of them through the LBC, Steve Meredith and Ford Barr, and the other I remember completing this ride as a 200K (Dave Fleming), and today's course, while challenging, does not come near to the difficulty of the 200K course. I have to trust that each knows their abilities and their response to the heat.  I have seen strong riders wither and become broken, sick, and weakened by heat, unable to continue or complete a course that they normally would have no trouble with completing.  I, myself, have been broken by heat and humidity before, left wondering if I would ever reach the ride end alive and undamaged.  Bonking is a pretty miserable feeling no matter what causes it.  It just takes all of the starch out of the spine.

I have brought a map in case one person makes the decision to turn around early and is comfortable doing so alone.  I ask everyone please to let me know if they are feeling like they need to rest or walk a hill or stop,  not to "suck it up" and go on.  I think men have more of a tendency to do this period and more so when a woman is captaining a ride, but perhaps that is a sexist perception on my part. There are times to fight against feeling poorly and times not to fight against it but give in and evaluate your options.   If it is mental fatigue, it is safe to resist the temptation to give in.  If it is physical, it becomes much more complicated.  Will pushing yourself result in injury or physical improvement?  Are you able to tell the difference between the pain signals your body is giving to you?  Are you blunting those perceptions with Ibuprofen or other pain maskers?  And while I believe in personal responsibility and decision making, something that seems to have disappeared in this country where law suits run rampant and have become like winning the lottery, I know I will feel responsible if one of these riders suffers a heat related illness despite the fact they are adults making the decision to ride in difficult conditions on an exacting course.

I decide to break LBC tradition and start the ride at 8:10 a.m. as I don't believe anyone else will show.  For those of you who don't ride with the club, the club has this silly tradition of starting a ride fifteen minutes after the scheduled start.  Yes, I know:  stupid but true. It is just one of those things you put up with due to tradition. Frankly, I was not sure anyone would show and I can't say with any certainty that I would have ridden the entire course today by myself if nobody had shown.  It is an odd things how much easier rides can be when one has company. And I say this despite my penchant for solo rides that leave me time to reflect.   I leave a cue sheet with a cell phone number and a written note to call me and I will wait up the road.  I do not receive a call and cue sheet remains on my car when I return later that afternoon.

The first climb is Bartle's Knob.  I have already decided to ride easily, and I slide down into my triple.  I remain glad that I insisted on a triple when I ordered this bike.  Yes, I have made the climb in the past with no problem with a double and will do so again, but not today.  Today will be stressful enough and is about survival.  When I bought my bike, Lynn tried to convince me to get a compact double.  I have repeatedly been glad that I did not give in to this suggestion.  Despite the fact I rarely use it, it is nice to have it there at the end of a long brevet or on a day such as today when I am trying to get a ride in without undue stress on my body. A hill is much different at four or five hundred miles than it is at ten or a hundred miles. I think for a bit of Steve Sexton and his secret of the triple:  "not to use it."  And then I think of Greg Smith who says why have it if you don't use it and that using it could extend riding life of the knees.  I pick the middle ground.  I try not to use the triple enough to significantly weaken me, but I also try to use it when it is prudent to do so.  I also think how I miss seeing both of these friends.

 Near the top of the climb I begin to see the storm damage from the tornado that devastated Henryville a few months ago. The Knobstone Trailhead is closed at the north entrance on the climb.  Large trees, mercilessly uprooted, are on their sides with roots exposed in a way that makes these giants seem feeble and exposed, ripped out the ground by the wind as weeds are when I weed the garden.   In my heart I mourn their passing, these fallen sentinels, and thank them for the beauty they have given me in the past. Despite the months that have passed, throughout the ride we will pass isolated areas of devastation:  houses without roofs, wind wrecked automobiles, debris.  Still there are the unaffected areas of beauty, and despite the tornado damage and the drought this is a beautiful ride.  Queen Anne's Lace lines the roads along with the occasional patch of Black Eyed Susans.  At the top of Bartle's Knob, there is a clearing where you can look out for miles.  I point it out to the others.  I worry about Steve's patience as I know he is capable of a much faster pace, particularly on climbs, but he says he is going to stay with the group and he is patient and graces us with his company all day.

Before I realize it, we are at the first store stop in Palmyra.  I remember coming here a few years for some 5K runs.  I still have the tee shirts, memories carefully folded in dresser drawers.  Steve's daughter works in the store.  The four of us sit and decide to continue onward rather than turn around.   Once again I ask them to promise me that they will not wait until they are in trouble with the heat before asking for a rest stop. 

I think of the many people who have experienced this ride with me.  Grasshopper was the first one  I shared this route with, and I remember looking at Depot Hill and asking myself what I had done.  I remember being with a group when I had a flat and a cat climbed me like a tree.  And I remember Larry's comment that he didn't think I would hear about the cat smelling pussy.  I remember lolling in the grass underneath a shade tree while Dave King fixed a flat tire.  I remember Perry Finley looking out on the hills to ride on Poplar Avenue and saying, "Holy Shit." I remember the look on Bill Pustow's face when we stopped for lunch at Tina's and he looked at his GPS and saw the amount of climbing we had done in only fifty miles and I teased him that we were now getting to the hard part of the ride. And I could go on.  Perhaps that is why I enjoy repeating courses at least yearly, these precious recollections of times spent with friends. Some of them remain close friends, some of them are friends but without the closeness we once shared, and others no longer ride at all and are lost to me except in my memories. Life changes despite our best efforts to resist. 

Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.  ~From the television show The Wonder Years

Before we get to Depot Hill, we make an extra store stop.  Riding brevets has left me with little patience for long store stops, but I reign in my impatience knowing it is best not to press if I  want to get everyone in safely.  I think of the Alabama song, "All I really got to do is live and die, but I'm in a hurry and don't know why."  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6slibTD9MF0  I have nothing crucial to me causing me to need to finish particularly early.  And I am glad that everyone appears to be happy staying in a group.  Most of my favorite rides are those with small groups where everyone pretty much stays together and shares the day and the roads.  It is starting to warm up and Steve reveals that the temperature has gone up 10 degrees in the 10 miles since we left Palmyra.  It is only about ten miles until lunch, no longer at the delicious Tina's, but now at Van's Country Table.

I am surprised to find that while Depot Hill has deteriorated on the downhill into mostly gravel, the uphill has been paved. This doesn't seem like a road that would merit repaving through high usage. It is just there. Steve teases me about my saying it is paved and looks like gravel and he is right, there is now more gravel than pavement on the descent, the first part of the road.  Nobody complains.  I think of Roger Bradford during the Challenge Series and how he appreciated the photo I took of the climb.  I think of Steve Rice hitting the dog on the head with his pump when it came out after us half way up the climb.  And with these memories, I once again smile knowing that I am making new memories today to bring on future rides.  Yes, in the picture the tiny dots are people, people on bicycles;-)

After lunch we head toward Pekin and the third store stop.  After not too many miles, however, Ford begins to have some trouble with the heat and asks to stop.  I am grateful that he listened to me earlier and hopeful we can stem the problem before it becomes debilitating causing a DNF. Steve is very familiar with this area and tells me there is a store that may be open in four miles.  Ford says he can make it that far, and so we continue to ride.  I am glad Steve knew where the store was because I would never have guessed there would be a store there.  It is off the main road, and then off on another side road.  The only thing that has  probably salvaged it at all is the connecting bar, but neither the bar nor the store are open at this time of day on the fourth.  There are, however, soda pop machines.  I put money in the pop machine and greedily begin to drink the ice cold soda not realizing until I am half done that this was the last pop in any of the machines.  I give what is left to Ford.  Steve says his sister lives near here and we head that way to use her hose.  When we get there, I suggest not only soaking heads and filling water bottles, but wetting the arm pits since what I read the previous evening about heat diseases said to cool those areas first.  I follow my own suggestion and I am amazed at the difference a wet jersey can make.  Later we pass over a bridge and I think of stopping and swimming, but I don't know these men as well as I know my normal companions, so I ride onward.

We stop again immediately before and after Shorts Corner Road, an annoying road that has no flat areas.  There are no major climbs on the road, but it is one roller after another and none of them are the fun kind where you have enough momentum to push you all or most of the way up the other side.  In Pekin signs of the fourth celebration are everywhere:  cars that have been decorated for the parade, bicycles that have been decorated for the parade....the town bleeds red, white, and blue today and boasts of having the longest lasting fourth of July celebration in the country.

After the last store stop, the ride finally flattens out giving relief until William's Knob, at least as the route is currently designed.  Steve rides ahead a bit and I wait at the top of the hill.  Steve becomes worried and turns around running over some debris that ruins a new sixty dollar tire on his new bicycle.  Dave is flabbergasted when I pull out my folding tire not being able to believe I carry a tire with me.  I tell him it is the sensible thing to do being a female and riding so much alone, but that I have rescued many a rider with a tire.  Steve agrees to borrow it until the ride start so that I don't have to worry about him flatting on the rather technical descent down Bartle's Knob. He fixes the flat and we zoom down the hill, dancing daringly around the curves and switchbacks.

And we end as we began, in a group.  Everyone has survived a brutal course in brutal temperatures. Smiles are on our faces as we realize our accomplishment.  I don't know, but I suspect it is the hottest club century that has ever been completed.  While I enjoyed the company and I enjoyed the day and all ended well, I find that I don't enjoy the responsibility of having others out in such conditions. Will I remember that when captaining in the future?  Who knows? We say our good-byes and head homewards.  Once there I pull out my bike and ride the extra 2.4 miles to make it a century.  Ah, the freedom of a bicycle.  How appropriate on July 4th, a date that celebrates a much more enduring and important freedom. Yes, I think I will schedule this ride next year on July 4, 2013.