This time, I was determined to ride the long one. Tyler and I rode 55 miles for Quadrathon. That was June 2. July 1, I rode 35 miles. I had not been on my bicyle since. I had been running and lifting and swimming but no cycling. It showed, and it showed early.
Right away I was getting passed by everyone. And everyone out there thought they had to let everyone else know they had ridden in a pace line before. It's customary to yell out stuff to alert all the riders to the dangers of the road. But these guys were getting on my nerves. They kept yelling, "Bump, bump, bump," to decibal levels that had to be heard to believed. They were behind me, beside me, in front of me, and maybe over me. "Bump, bump, bump!" They had me as nervouse as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
If I had had a pistol, I would have fired five shots into the air and yelled, "Shut up, shut up, shut up!!!" I never even saw the bump, bump, bump, but I heard about it until I was in a very foul mood.
And can't we get beyond this "Car up, car back," yell? I promise, I have never heard a cyclist yell, "Horse and buggy up" or "Dinasaur up" or "Elephant up." Can't we just say "up" or "back"?
OK. I'm through venting.
On Highway 49, going south out of Greenwood, I fell in with a pretty pace line, as pretty as I have seen. They started around me in single file and about fifteen riders passed before I saw a gap and slid over to take my place in the line. There were two lines, actually, side by side, and we were clipping along at 19+ miles per hour. I was in the inside line and a fat guy on a cheap bicyle was in the outside line. He wore running shoes, board shorts, and a pink long-sleeved dress shirt. I'm telling you, it's predictable. You will always see someone like this, someone who looks out of place but can ride with some good guys.
I was riding along and I kept looking over at this guy thinking "Where did you come from?" Then he pulls out, almost to the center of Highway 49, and passes the whole line. THE. WHOLE. PACE. LINE!!! And he rode away and out of sight.
I promise you, I am not making this up. It shocked me, stunned me, and hurt my feelings all at the same time. I was, in fact, so amazed that my jaw was on my chest and a bug flew into my mouth. Yuck!
That's the thing about endurance athletics: you have to be humble or you better stay at home.
Then I got dropped by that good pace line. I jumped on another and got dropped again. And it happened again. And again. And again.
That's when I knew I was in trouble. Just finishing this thing had to be the goal. I knew there was some misery waiting on me up ahead. But I have gears, I thought, and I have guts. Gears and guts and a little grace from God will get me to the end of this.
I made it to the first rest stop in Itta Bena still in pretty good shape. But I knew a whole lot of road was still up there waiting on me to come along, waiting like a lion in the long grass lurching for an antelope. While I was there, I put the lion in the long grass out of my mind and ate a fig newton and drank some pickle juice. Name another setting where you will drink pickle juice and thank the person who gave it to you.
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| I ran into Andy Lo at the Itta Bena rest stop |
Leaving the rest stop, I pedaled gently and tried several times to catch some wheels. I caught several, but always watched them ride away after a few short minutes. We crossed Highway 82 where that accident happened a couple of years ago. Two highway patrol men were in the highway stopping the traffic. Thank you, Jesus.
We made the long road from Itta Bena to Schlater where there was rest stop number two. But things had changed since the last time I came this way. Formerly the stop was at a house. Now there is a fire department in downtown Schlater and the rest stop was there. The amazing thing was, the people working the rest stop thanked us for stopping. Wow.
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| Schlater rest stop |
The road north of Schlater is where your training or lack thereof begins to really show. I was not feeling too bad, but I was riding slowly now and had teamed up with a woman from Memphis who was a newbie at BBB. Riding with someone is always easier than riding alone. We rode and chatted, and I painted a picture of Minter City that had her asking every few minutes how far was it. I showed her the road to Bugger Den. I showed her the Tailwater Recovery pond that I sometimes swim. And when we were in Minter City and she saw the bicycles and cars and blinking lights up ahead, she asked, "What's that?"
"That," I answered, "is heaven."
And it was. As usual, there were the tables of volunteers who will fill your bottle with ice and Gatorade. There was the welcome shade. And there was the little house out back full of food: pbjs, pimento and cheese sandwiches, cookies of every sort and shape, and grapes, lots of cold grapes. I saw Belva Pleasants. Sitting in a chair, she was ancient and glorious and seemed to be graciously enjoying the goodness her church rest stop was giving to so many people.
I lost Courtney, the woman I was riding with, but I found someone else, Mark Waldrop and his wife, Roberta. Mark and I used to train together, until he got a girlfriend and went off to college. This was the first time I had seen him in years. He now lives in New Albany, and at Minter City he offered to pull me all the way back to Greenwood. That is not an offer a wise man turns down. Nor a weak one. I know I was one of those; I like to think I was both.
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| My old training partner, Mark Waldrop |
We left Minter City and began our journey towards Money, the last rest stop of the ride. Before we got to Highway 8, however, we came upon a women laid out on the pavement. Of course we stopped and tried to offer help. She had not crashed. She had not fallen out due to heat or exhaustion. She was prone due to stomach pains. After a few minutes, Mark's wife rode on to get a head start on us. The prone woman begged us and begged us to leave her and eventually we did when we saw the SAG vehicle approaching.
Mark and I made it to Money Road and somewhere along the way, a gap opened between our tires. I kept thinking he would notice, but he never did and eventually he pulled out of sight. I metephorically crawled into Money where I ate some more pickles, drank more pickle juice, and devoured a PayDay candy bar. And I found Mark again. "How are you, Zane?" he asked.
"Looking for a rope," was my response.
"A rope?"
"Yeah. To tie to your bike. I'm gunna need ya' going home."
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| Money rest stop. Notice the musician in the background. |
We left riding slow. Even at the slow pace I was about to drop when Mark announced we were stopping at the chuch, Little Zion. There we dismounted and found some shade and sat and cooled. "Why are these hurting?" Roberta asked pointing to her quadraceps.
"Because you have been using them for three and a half hours," I answered. Then I added, "Gears and guts. Gears and guts will get us home."
We started back, but when we approached the radio station, she was about to quit. She fell off pace, and I could see it in her face. "I can't make it," she said weakly.
"Gears and guts," I yelled. But she didn't understand. "Downshift." She was on an ancient ten-speed and had to reach for the shift lever. When she downshifted, I could see the difference in her expression. I dropped to ten miles per hour and she fell in on my wheel. We crossed the bridge. "Can you make it now?" I asked.
"I can make it," she said with a smile.
And we did. Mark, of course, was still strong. But Roberta and I were just happy it was over.
The finish of a long effort is always a wonderful thing. There is an end to the suffering. There is plenty to drink. There is food, and there is time to reflect. What did I learn? I learned that it is still worth it to get out and test yourself, to push yourself hard, to suffer a little. It makes you appreciate the comfort of your home and a little leisure. Thank you, Jesus, for another good experience.
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| The pace wasn't great, but hey |
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