Saturday, August 27th was a day for pushing limits. The bike was rolling fine and the legs were firing on all cylinders and I was feeling good in spite of the pain of the physical effort…
“I think we just passed the start line, Huffyman.”
This was gonna be a long day…
Mile 1: Riding along nicely. Almost missed one of the first turns. My friend Cindy had driven up to Richmond from the big city down south to join me in the Cache Valley Century Bicycle Tour and we started a little late, after most others had already headed down the road and there was no arrow painted on the road at the 3rd turn. We had to rely on wit and keen observation to figure out the correct path. The 4 brightly colored guys standing by their bikes pointing down the road and yelling, “This way! The course is this way!” were not in any way influential in our decision to go “that way.”
Mile 9.97: The first part of the ride had been through the gentle hills along the east side of Cache Valley between Richmond UT and Franklin ID. I was thinking this was pretty easy riding when we saw the first rest site. Since this was a bicycle tour and not a race, there was no rush with the food and the offerings were very good. I filled up my water and stomach and headed back down the road. The weather was perfect and butterflies were dancing across the fields on the side of the road. This was gonna be cake.
Mile 17: My back hurts. My butt hurts. The most I have ever ridden is 21 miles, but that was powered by donuts so this was completely different. I lost one of my riding gloves a while back so was using a pair of mechanic’s gloves. They kept my hands very warm in the warm sun (totally necessary) and provided a direct handlebar to road sensitivity (no cushion). My hands were going numb every few minutes and I was shifting hand positions constantly. But no complaining from me. I am tough. I can do hard things. Oh, and a bead of sweat got in my right eye and it was stinging…
Mile 20.2: Cute little 3 year old waving from her yard. I waved back. “Mommy, that man wides like I do!”
Mile 21: The 2nd rest stop was 1 mile past the halfway point of the race. I wanted the rest stop at mile 20 but had to find the strength to go another mile past where I was mentally prepared to go! I was so happy to get off the bike and get a refill of Gatorade and stand up straight. I ate enough at the first rest stop that I felt it wise to skip the food at this one. But those Great Harvest Blueberry Dream Yummy bars (my name for it after tasting one) was calling my name… The second one wasn’t calling my name but it still looked inviting. The 3rd looked at me funny so I ate it out of spite and self-preservation. Stiffness in the knees happened quickly so back on the bike and down the road we went.
Mile 32: Couldn’t go any further. A rest site was supposed to be around here and all I could see in front of us was that grove of palm trees and the beautiful lake… I shook my head and the view became grain silos and lots of asphalt in front of me. I had to stop to straighten my back and get a drink of Gatorade. This was a long ride. I only just realized it.
Mile 32.4: The last rest area before the finish. Glorious! The plentiful shade and grass were so inviting and I wanted to lie down and enjoy, but I worried that if I did, I would not be able to get back up again. So I filled my water bottle and had a bunch of orange slices. It was apparent that the last rest stop volunteers had radioed ahead and these guys had hidden the Blueberry Dream Yummy bars. Dang. Thinking about the lunch waiting at the end, I made my peace with the rest stop volunteers and Cindy and I headed out into the last, sunny, hot, overwhelming, sadistic and long final stretch.
Mile 37: About 5 miles out and I had to stop again. I sounded like Captain Kirk – “Must…stop…and rest. Must prepare…for…victorious…finish.” Cindy laughed, as did the lady riding the old bike with the fenders as she passed by, as well as the 2 older women who went by on their fancy shmancy roadie bikes, yapping (in between laughing at me) about what Susan the sister in law said after her boss said this and so on… The women were mocking me with their indifference to my pain.
Mile 39: I passed the 2 yapping ladies. I tried to laugh at them in spiteful victory but I could only get out a parched bark. They never slowed their conversation as if to show how little I mattered in their lives.
Mile 40.5: Passed fender lady. Barely.
Mile 41.3: Crossed the tracks and hit the hill up to the highway in Richmond. Up off my seat and hard on the pedals, I rode that hill with all the energy I had left. Less than a half mile left and I felt like I might make it before I completely fell apart. The hill was a killer and at the top I had to sit back down and shift into low gear for the next 200 yards to the highway stop light. It was the best I could muster. The light turned red just as I got to it. My knees stiffened as I waited. Cindy and another rider got to the light smiling. I glared at them hoping they would stop. Just as I reached the official stiffening point of my knees, thighs and back, the light turned green. Push, push, push… My mind willed my legs to go and slowly but steadily, progress was made across the street and toward the finish.
Mile 41.95: The finish line. A colorful line across the road and the single word, “Finish” painted before it. Such a quiet ending to the intensely personal and physical drama that had unfolded throughout the morning. But the pain became bearable as I kept repeating in my mind, “I did it. I did it…” I started out thinking this ride would be easy. Then I worried that I might not make it. And in the end, I pushed through and finished in quiet flair. It was indeed a great day.
Boy, did the lunch they had waiting for us taste good!
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