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11-26-07, 07:27 AM
Way back in 1996 I saved this account of cycling the Boston - Montreal - Boston race. While it is very long, it is written with humour and I am amazed at the abilities of some people. I Googled Melinda Lyon and see that she is still very much involved in competitive cycling.
Newsgroups: rec.bicycles.rides
Subject: The 1996 edition of Boston-Montreal-Boston
From: jbayley@mukluk-19.odi.com (John Bayley)
Date: 06 Sep 1996 20:45:56 GMT
I'm posting the following article on behalf of a friend, Ray Edwards
(redwards@alphlz.att.com), who currently doesn't have newsgroup
access. I hope you enjoy it half as much as I did !
John Bayley
Chelmsford, Massachusetts, USA.
---
BMB '96
I figured the 1996 edition of Boston-Montreal-Boston was going
to be a challenge this year. While I did not believe it could
be anywhere close to the pain in the brain of the 14 hours of
solid rain I had run into in '94, I had set a more ambitious finish
time for myself this year and knew there would be very little room
for luxuries. Like sleep.
At PBP in '95 I had been fortunate enough to have ridden with two
very, very good riders, Melinda Lyon and Larry von Kuster. We had
a great and fun ride. In the intervening year I had debated on whether
to do BMB this year or not. When I finally decided I had nothing better
to do on August 22 through 25, I made the commitment to myself of trying
to give it the best shot possible. I started asking mutual friends if
Melinda was planning on riding it this year. She has ridden BMB several
times and we rode well together in Paris. I had heard that she wanted
to take a shot at the woman's record and I thought it might be a good
trade off. Anyway we eventually got in touch and found we did indeed
have a similar idea as to how we wanted to do BMB. Her best time at
BMB was about 3 ½ or 4 hours better than mine. She went through her
old ride checkpoint sheets and came up with a plan. It was simple.
Just don't stop and don't sleep.
Now I am all for simplicity, but I thought maybe somewhere along the way
I might want to do some really radical things like go to the bathroom,
eat, change shorts, so I kind of negotiated her down to no sleeping,
and very, very quick stops at the checkpoints. I did not tell her I was
going to secretly pack some fresh clothes to some checkpoints in order to
change. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her right? Anyway after a couple
of phone calls we had our plan and was set.
I met Melinda Wednesday before the ride and she drove us over to the start
hotel. I settled in, talked to some friends, ate dinner and went to sleep
looking forward (yeah really) to the ride in the morning.
The 4 am ride started right on time and with no problems. It followed the
same pattern as my '94 experience. Everyone blasting out like they were
doing a neighborhood century. Having the knowledge of what the first day's
riding was going to be like I decided to ease back and let the early hammers
have their way. This strategy was seconded by Melinda and we settled in with
a nice group of 10 or so riders and made our way to Bullard Farm. The passage
was uneventful except for two things. I started to get a twinge in my left
knee and my feet had fallen asleep. Now I realized that sore knees and feet
are just another part of marathon cycling and in the 3 years I have been
playing this game, I have gotten used to much of the discomfort associated
with being on a bike longer than I have ever been in a car. But these little
tweaks were new and different. I had an uneasy feeling as we neared the first
C.P.
We were in and out of Bullard Farm in around 15 minutes. Not all that fast
for the pro's but for someone who usually takes 10 minutes figuring out
where the bagels and cookies are, it was blistering. We headed on toward
Brattleboro in good shape and good spirits. I noticed Melinda looking at
her watch. I think she had each C.P. in the ride scheduled out. But
experience has taught me that it is sometimes easier to ride a schedule than
explain it, so I did what I do best, don't think just ride. The sun had made
an appearance this day. And while it was not hot by Georgia standards, it was
bright and humid and I could see it was beginning to show some effects on some
of the European and northern riders. Melinda and I rode pretty much alone
for most the section to Brattleboro. It has a couple of fairly good hills
in this section so we paced ourselves accordingly. Just before Bratleboro
we are caught by a group of riders. In the group was a woman from Switzerland.
I believe her name was Suzzane. She was a strong rider and lead her group
up to us. Melinda and I joined in and together we all finished the last
couple of miles into Brattleboro.
I don't know why, but the two times I have done BMB, Brattleboro has always
been the worse C.P. for me. It seems I never get the right food or drink
there and always come out of it feeling like I am running short. Part of it
may be the anticipation (or dreading) of the next section to Ludlow. This
stretch is hated by even the most veteran of BMB riders. It is very, very
hilly. Those few of you who have the (mis)fortune to know me personally
know I love to climb and love to push big gears, but I have top admit I
dearly hate this quaint little section of the Vermont countryside. I settled
into the easiest gears I had (39x23) and spun up each sweet, motherloving
hill. And then there is the road condition. I gather from the local riders
that this is not the primary route to anyway in Vermont so the road department
has kinda forgotten about it. I heard a rider sunk into a crack up to the
dropouts and had to get a wrecker to get out, but I cannot confirm that at
this time. Regardless, it is a stretch of road that is best just endured
and not thought about. Unfortunately by now my knee and feet were really
getting to be a pain. Nice electric shock feelings were popping up into
my thigh whenever I twisted my knee just right. And my feet were getting
numb to the ankles. Thank god for Advil. (I would later go on to set the
record for most milligrams of ibuprofen consumed on one BMB by a male rider
from the U.S.) As bad as the stretch was naturally, this particular year
was exceptionally nice in as much as about a ½ mile section just north of
Grafton was washed out and we got to climb a nicely steep hill out of
Grafton on sand. 700x23 tires do not a good mountain bike make. I heard
several folks did the "Laugh-In Tricycle Fallover" spinning up that hill.
Fortunately no one was seriously hurt. But just in case our memories of
the Brattleboro-Ludlow ride would mellow as we put most of it behind us,
the department of roads in Vermont, undoubtedly insulted by what I was
thinking about their work ethic, had decided to repair the section of road
going to and including the Andover Pass climb. Well, maybe repair is a
strong word to use. They graveled it. About two miles worth I think. Nice
sharp, small gravel, with just a hint of tar thrown in for consistency. It
was truly a pleasure to experience this. My personal favorite was to be
chugging up Andover Pass and getting rocks jammed under the brake bridges
on the front and rear brakes and gringing to a unscheduled halt in the middle
of a downstroke. Makes the ride more exciting don't you know. Well after
much effort, cursing, stopping, unjamming and a generally miserable time,
we cleared the gravel section and got moving at a fairly good pace for about
2 minutes. Another nice thing about small, sharp gravel, flats. Melinda
flatted. It was one of those, "I'm hot, tired, aggravated and don't want
to have a flat" flats. We pulled over to the only shady spot on the road
and being a gentleman and a scholar I let Melinda change her tube while
I laid down in the weeds next to the road. I did help her a bit getting
the wheel back on the bike and let her use one of my CO2 cartridges. It only
took 10 minutes to change. Not Tour de France speed, but not bad after
150 miles. Well almost not bad. Melinda has a spacer washer that is supposed
to go on the inside of the dropout and we, in our rush to get back into
the heat of the competition (and because we were both to p.o.'d and tired to
notice) had moved it to the outside of the dropout. The result was she
could not change gears very well. A mere detail to my mind but she seemed
to want to fix it. After a nice descent (no gravel) we pulled over and began
to wrestle with her bike. It (the bike) won the first two falls but eventually
the three of us, a friend of Melinda's who was supporting the ride had driven
up to us by now, overwhelmed the bike and we got back on the road. Now a
quick dash up Mt. Terrible which is the last climb before Ludlow and a glorious
descent to the C.P. was all we had in front of us. Five days later when I
finally topped Mt Terrible and descended into the Ludlow C.P., I sagged into
an easy chair at Ludlow and proceeded to eat. Two seconds later (actually
it was probably closer to 30 minutes but time flies when I am stuffing my
face) Melinda and I were back in the saddle. The rest and Advil had done
wonders for my knee. My feet had settled into a dull constant ache, but
definitely endurable, but I guess I ate a little too much at Ludlow because
my stomach really was trying it's best to give back the baked potato, macaroni
and cheese, brownies (they were very good the first time I tasted them) and
salad I had had in Ludlow. It was trying real hard. About five miles to
Middelbury I started wondering if throwing myself in front of some of
the increasing traffic along the way was a legitimate method of ending the
ride. You know, the "death before dishonor" gambit. Seemed like a good idea
at the time, but then I remembered I had told Melinda I would ride with her
and decided to try to hang on. I advised Melinda of my situation and suggested
that if she heard any usually disgusting noises coming from my direction as
I sucked her wheel through the Vermont countryside, she might want to keep
her eyes looking forward in order to avoid seeing something best left unseen
and undescribed. So as she geared up and starting cranking down the road,
I clinched my teeth shut, put my head down and prayed a moose would run over
me. (Hey, I can't help acts of God and nature can I).
Well as I knew, in the deep dark corners of my mind, would eventually happen
I started to feel almost human a couple of miles before Middlebury Gap. Melinda
had done a great job of pulling us through (not to mention listening to a steady
stream of whining from yours truly) and we had gotten to Middlebury Gap well
before dark. It is a very good thing to try to do this gap in the daylight.
As we began to climb I felt pretty good. I was a little concerned that my
39x23 gearing would cause me trouble here, but my hard work in mountain
training in north Georgia (Central PAC Tour 1994 alumnus will remember north
Georgia I am sure) this summer had prepared me well for the climb. That and
the fact that my good buddy Melinda had done the pulling for the last 50 miles.
But I kept a good watch out for moose during that time so it was not like I
didn't do anything constructive. Anyway I made it up Middlebury with lunch
still where it was supposed to be. Melinda came up a couple a seconds later
and we descended into Middlebury and dinner. Last time I came over this gap
I had a nice conversation with Elvis. But today being very bright and sunny
and given Elvis's natural disposition toward privacy, I did not suspect
I would see him. As I neared the summit however just out of the corner of
my eye I caught a glimpse of a white leather cape (Elvis in the Vegas years)
and heard a faint "Well, that’s nice, thank you very much" but I can't swear
to an actual sighting.
There is really something very nice about making it into Middlebury. It means
you have gotten through the dreaded Brattleboro to Ludlow stretch and have
made most the major climbs going out. There is also the lasagna dinner at
the C.P. I don't know why, I usually am not crazy about Italian food, but
the dinner at Middlebury has really tasted fine the two times I have done
BMB. Maybe a 230 mile appetizer has something to do with it. There were also
a few dozen chocolate donuts there which I seemed to find room for. I also
iced my knee for about 30 minutes and managed to sneak off and put on fresh
clothes without Melinda realizing it. I can be very sneaky when needs be.
We joined up with a few other guys at Middlebury and we rolled out with a
group of six or seven. Three guys were riding on to Burlington to sleep
at a hotel. It was dark now and as always I enjoyed riding at night in a
group. It was a clear, warm night and in spite of the hills between
Middlebury and Burlington we made good time. The three riders dropped
out at Burlington. There we met Dave Frechete (sp) Melinda's friend who
was supporting the ride and had helped us earlier with the spacer. He was
in Burlington to give fluids to folks making the night passage to Rouses
Point. It is 80 something miles to Rouses Point from Middlebury and at
night there are not many places for water or food on the route. We set
out onto the flats across Lake Champlain. One rider of the Middlebury
group we had joined up with had decided to continue on with us. He was
Tom Davies, a RAAM veteran who I believe holds the RAAM senior's record.
I don't know what it is but I know it is some ridiculously fast time.
He would continue on with us for the duration of the ride. He is a very
strong and agreeable rider. The three of us meshed well.
A nice tailwind came up as we went across to Rouses Point. The moon was
a bright quarter and except for some foggy low lands, it was clear and warm.
We talked and rode three abreast in the quiet late night early morning hours.
We passed the small lake towns silently only drawing the attention of a few
dogs startled as we moved past their houses. Their barking the only sound
for miles. It was a peaceful enjoyable passage. For me it was the most
enjoyable part of the ride. My knee had settled down to a dull ache and
the flat land had made it easier to get around sore feet. And with the
tailwind, life was good.
We got into Rouses Point in good shape. We had planned to grab a quick nap
(at least I had, but I don't think sleep is part of Melinda's vocabulary)
but when we took stock of how we felt it was apparent that after a quick
breakfast, we would be more than ready to head on to Montreal. So after a
quick breakfast of donuts, coffee and Exceed (it tasted about like it sounds)
we rolled out toward Montreal. I can't remember, but I think it was light
by now, but I do remember it had clouded up in the early morning and a light
sprinkle had started. The roads were slightly wet as we crossed into Canada.
The road to Montreal is flat and we still had a quartering tailwind. It was
not hard riding but my knee starting sending its little love messages up and
down my leg ( I had forgotten to get my Advil fix in Rouses Point) and my feet
were really hurting badly now. In the early morning daylight I began to feel
the first feeling of drowsiness. We maintained a loose pace line into metro
Montreal and then went through the 2 million stop signs to the C.P. I was
looking forward to a bit of shut eye and a good feeding in Montreal.
A funny thing happen to us on the way to the C.P. We seemed to inadvertently
have draw the ire of a particularly militant member of Montreal's transit
system. I was in the lead going down a 4 lane boulevard in Montreal, eyes
blinking and head nodding with sleep when we were passed by a very big (at
least to my sleepy eyes) bus. As it came past us it seemed to start cutting
toward the curb in front of us as if the driver was pulling over to unload
passengers and had not seen us. When the bus got to within about 6 inches
of me I decided that maybe he really did not know he was trying to occupy
my space and even if he did know it was rapidly become a moot point as the
thing he was using to occupy the space (namely a bus) was much bigger that the
thing I was occupying the space with (I was still on a bicycle) and he would
most likely win the battle for the space. I slammed on the brakes and he ran
up on the curb. "Nice landing" I thought to myself. Then the bus doors opened
and the driver boinced down onto the sidewalk and proceeded, in the best
Quebecian French I have ever heard, to chew us a new one for riding in the
street when just 5 lanes away on the other side of the road was a crumbling,
grate lined, broken bottle filled bike path just waiting to be used. He
went on for several minutes before he took breath and stopped waiting for our
reply. After a few seconds of what must have been the blankest stares any
mortal has ever received, I answered "Huh". You see while I can almost ask
where to find the bathroom (a great and necessary skill for PBP) I do not
understand hysterical French. The driver being the sensitive and intelligent
creature he was, quickly recognized my plight and proceeded to tear me another
one in very good English. Two or three minutes later after another set of
blank stares I answered again. "Huh?" I am a true wit in these situations.
He apparently was expected some more substantial reply for he stared at our
stares for a few seconds, muttered a few French words which I could not catch
but am sure were probably to wish us a safe and easy journey, turned and got
back on the bus. The last I saw of him as I continued on down the boulevard,
he tried to take a corner on two wheels after a red light. Well the funny
thing that happened (aside form the Quebecian-American relations) was I was no
longer sleepy and my knee did not hurt. Amazing what near death experiences
will do for you. We pushed through the final few miles to the C.P.
We had obviously gotten to the C.P. early. It was open but the only food
available was pizza (my non-Italian stomach did not exactly jump at that),
fruit (who eats health food on these rides?) and dehydrated chicken soup
which for some reason sounded pretty good to me. I tired to make the soup
in a small drinking cup with not yet hot water. It was close. The noodles
actually got a little soft after a while. Well I managed to get most of it
in me as well as a hand full of grapes and a bagel. I was still wide awake
and knew that it would be useless to try to nap and as my companions were about
in the same shape as myself, we pushed on through Montreal. Managed to
negotiate the 2 million stop signs without incurring the wrath of the transit
authority and made it into the countryside.
Well that nice quartering tailwind we had going into Montreal was now a not
so nice headwind coming out. We quickly formed a pace line and traded pulls.
We were managing about a 17 to 18 mph pace. Not bad after 375 miles and into
a pretty stiff and rising headwind. For me drowsiness was now starting to
rear its ugly head, but with 30 or so miles to go to Rouses Point, I knew
there was little chance of a break for a couple of hours. I called
on my secret weapon. Coca Cola. Being born and raised in Atlanta, we are
nursed on Coke from two or three days old. Blood tests prove people from
Atlanta have a high concentration of corn syrup, carbonated water and
caffeine in the system. It is in the water down here. So as soon as we
came upon a store (actually a gas station) I pulled in to get a recharge.
Interesting thing about Canada, they have their own money. It ain't like
ours. The two gentlemen sitting on the old tire stacks in front of the
gas station did not seem too happy to exchange American money for Canadian
Coca Cola. They did not want to make change. After some really intense
high level negotiations, I convinced them it was okay for me to give them
a whole American dollar for a 16 ounce Coke and not want to get any change.
Hey I am a big spender when I need to be. Anyway, Coke in hand, I chugged
it down (16 ounces is child's play around these parts) and hopped back up
on the bike and ploughed into the headwind. A few miles and bleches later I
was a new man. We maintained a very good pace line for the next 40 miles into
Rouses Point. About 20 miles out we came up on another solo rider who fell into
our pace line.
Getting back to Rouses Point is a real boost. It means you are over half
way. You also get to see a lot of the riders coming out and think to
yourself how great it feels not to have to go out to Montreal. Sort of
"Nah, nah, na, nah, nah, I've already done that." But of course you don't
really say that. You think it, but just don't say it. There were quite a few
hallow eyed folks in the C.P. I imagine if I had looked in a mirror I
would have looked the same. However I felt very good and was ready to enjoy
the now bolstered menu at the C.P. Rice Krispies, Frosted Flakes and donuts
never tasted so good. And the Coffee was fresh and strong. It was a good
stop. I recovered a lot of calories there.
Everyone had been talking about the cold front that was going to come through
and drop the temperatures and cause the wind the shift out the north. At this
point a north wind would have been a tail wind which almost always a good
thing to have on a long ride, also as we all know tailwinds are never around
when you need them and the cold front never seemed to materialize and the
wind stayed strong out of the southwest. As we rolled out of Rouses Point
it began to rain in earnest and soon we were riding in a steady downpour
along a very busy road that had a great many places that the good old
Vermont department of roads had decided to work on. It was a long, wet,
windy and muddy stretch. We were soon covered in a thin layer of mud.
About half way through the Lake Champlain stretch going into Burlington,
we caught up with a rider we crossed the border with. He had left
Rouses Point before us but was not riding alone as fast as we were riding
together. He seemed a bit tired and did not mind riding in with us. It had been
raining an hour now and I was just wondering when one of us would run into some of
the rain washed glass that always seems to be deposited in the road during heavy
downpours, when while climbing a short hill, Tom yelled he flated. Melinda
and I stopped and turned to wait, but our friend who did not mind
riding in with us, decided to push on on his own. To my mind this
was a little aggravating but there is no rule that says you stop when someone
in the group you are riding with flats. I just shrugged and thought that
usually what goes around comes around. Luckily and against every rule
of flats I know of Tom had flatted on the front tire. I am sure this breaks
some fundamental law of nature. Flatting the front tire just is never done.
It is always the rear tire, but we were not about to look a gift flat in the
mouth and quickly replaced the tube and got on down the road. It was still
windy and raining, but as we neared the end of the lake stretch my spirits
rose a little. At least we would be out of the main force of the wind. In
10 or so miles we caught up again with the Frenchman who again appeared to be
struggling a bit on his own and fell in with us again. We made it through
to Burlington with no more troubles and fought our way through the hills
and traffic to Middlebury. This particular section was the low point in
the ride for me. The mud and rain had contributed to this feeling, but mainly
it was the large amount of traffic along this section that made me feel a
little down. the drivers of Vermont really seemed to resent us being on the
road. I have never been honked at and shouted at by so many people. I could
understand it on the highways, but it continued well into the back roads
going into Middlebury. This was the only stretch in the ride I felt this
way. It could be a false impression aided a great deal by fatigue and
aggravation at the weather. Anyway I was very glad to get into Middlebury.
We got into Middlebury around 5:30 or so and wanted to get over Middlebury
Gap in the daylight so we decided to take off at 6:15. Again the Middlebury
C.P. was well stocked and I enjoyed pizza, cookies and donuts. This time I
made sure to pop a few Advil while I was waiting. I slipped into some fresh
clothes and our group of 4, Melinda, Tom, the rider from the border crossing
and myself. Melinda had to make a short stop on the way
out and told Tom and I to go on and she would catch up. Tom, the rider
and I rolled on slowly. We got to Middlebury Gap just at dusk and began to
climb. I pulled a little ahead of Tom and the Frenchman on the first incline
and got out of sight in the curves and bends. At the second set of climbs,
Tom caught up with me. We climbed slowly but steadily. We passed a REAL moose
(not the illusionary type I would see later that night)I asked Tom if he
saw Melinda or the other rider. He said our independent friend started to have shifting
troubles on the climb and had to really slow down, but he had not seen Melinda
since we left. About 3/4 of the way up the gap, Dave Jordan, another ride
support person drove by and told us Melinda was back on the road and a ways
back. I got a little ahead of Tom on the final inclines and topped the gap
just as the sun was setting behind us. I did not want to descend in the dark
so I went on down into Hancock to wait. By the time I got to Hancock it was
dark. Tom and I waited for Melinda. Tom was getting sleepy. He almost fell
asleep waiting. Melinda, Tom and I got together again in Hancock and rode on.
We were joined on the road by Mike Lang a very good rider and a good friend
from Montreal. He had been behind us by about 30 minutes since Montreal and
had been trying to catch up with us. The four of us continued on to Ludlow
in the dark.
By now sleep was definitely becoming an issue. I began to look around for
a Canadian bus driver to get me fired up again, but I could not seem to
find one. It was not without trying. I saw many interesting things that
evening. A few stray moose (mooses?), dogs, cars, trucks, UFO's, no Elvis
(it was late and probably past his bedtime) and several other hallucinations
of varied color and shape. But the real kicker was about 10 miles from
Ludlow. It was foggy and we were riding just below the low clouds. I started
to see a pulsing blue cloud that seemed to follow me where ever I went. It
was really quite pretty. I convinced myself that it could not really be a UFO
and we must be riding around an airport and it was low flying aircraft. I
knew it must be near Ludlow since it was the only town around big enough to
have an airport. Well such is the world of a mind short on sleep. There was
another explanation that I had not considered. State Trooper. I don't know
how long he had been behind us with his lights on. For several hundred yards
I would guess. We all noticed him about the same time (this was really a group
you would want to ride with) and it took us several seconds to figure out
what to do. None of us had ever been pulled over on a deserted, country road
in the middle of the night. But eventually we figured that we probably
could not out run him so we pulled over. I have to give him credit, he did
not once ask what the heck we were doing out there at that time, he just asked
us to ride as close to the shoulder as we could and ride in single file,
because when we were riding two abreast it looked like we were a car. I did
not want to tell him that that was the object of riding two abreast. I was
having a hard time not laughing at the situation. (I get pretty punchy without
sleep), so we just said yes sir and watched him drive away. We continued on
riding sort of single file and as close to the side as we could.
By now I was pretty well shot. It was going on 43 hours of pretty much
straight riding. My knee was hurting and my feet were absolutely numb to the
ankles. I began to fear that it would be my feet that would cause me to
abandon the ride. I rolled into Ludlow very tired and very low. I asked
Dave Ferchete to see if he could find me some running or walking shoes and
clipped pedals to try to finish the ride in. He said he had some running
shoes (it turned out he had almost everything in his van including parts
to lighting systems that fit Melinda's when hers self destructed) but he
did not know of any clipped pedals. I asked him to ask around and went to
grab some sleep. It was about midnight when I laid down for a quick 30
minute nap.
30 minutes that felt like 30 seconds later, I was woken up and stumbled
downstairs to get something to eat and get ready to take off. We had
decided to leave at 1 am. We were roughly 170 tough miles away and were
looking at a 58 hour ride if we did not waste any time. As I walked out
into the driveway, Dave said he could not find any pedals, but I was
welcomed to use his running shoes. The thought of riding on clippless
pedals with running shoes over the worse section of road I have ever
seen in the rain in the night did not sound too safe, so I reluctantly
sat down to put on my riding shoes and gruntout the ride as best as I
could. One of the C.P. workers happen to overhear Dave and I talking
and said he had a pair I could use. Dave grabbed Adam (the worker with
the pedals) and off they ran into the darkness. As if by magic my bike
appeared before me, new pedals installed, waiting for my now running
shoe clad feet to slide into them. One of the other C.P. workers said
she thought I would have a hard time climbing in those shoes. I just
smiled and with my feet feeling better than they had in two days, said
"Watch me".
While the ride to Brattleboro from Ludlow is no better than the ride out,
I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It took a while
to get used to the setup, but within a couple of climbs I was doing fine.
My feet were still asleep, but I no longer felt like I had burning coals in
my shoes. It was wonderful. For the first time since Montreal I started
thinking in terms of speed instead of survival.
It rained hard off and on during this section. The road was dark and rough.
The gravel section on Andover Pass was nerve wracking. Miraculously
no one flatted. In Ludlow we were joined by another rider. He looked
strong and rode along with us easily. Except for various minor mechanical
troubles (my waterbottle cage vibrated off and I lost my mini-pump) the only
major incident was when the new rider fell asleep and crashed. It was a
spectacular crash. He went head over heels literally, but emerged uninjured
and bike undamaged. Except for an obvious embarrassment, he was fine and lucky.
We went through Peavy, Vt. which is 5 miles from Bratleboro but is really
the end of the bad road. We cruised into Brattleboro just before dawn.
We would eat and rest until daylight and push the final 114 miles to Boston.
As usual I was late getting out of the C.P. This time I was answering nature's
call, when the other's rolled out. I knew I could catch them and did so within
a few miles. My feet were feeling great. I felt great. We all felt the
pull of the finish. It was still over 100 miles away, but after 650 or so
miles I was strong. I concentrated on holding back and we rolled along at a
good pace. It was very foggy and humid. After a while we settled into a
gentle cadence. Each one started trying to calculate the time and distance
remaining to try to set a doable time to shoot for. At this point it was
fairly apparent Melinda was well within the woman's record which I believe
was around 59:30, but it was also evident that with effort we might be able to
go even better than that. It is very difficult to do any mental exercises
after 50 hours of virtually no sleep, but I thought we could get in in the
57:30 to 58:00 range. But I thought it would take a push. I was getting
sleepy again and just before we got to Mt. Grace I pushed out a little to try
to wake myself up. It started to rain again and between the effort and the
rain my sleepiness passed and I felt very strong. Mike, the new rider and I
linked up and rode the remaining few miles into Bullard Farm at a good pace.
I knew Melinda was going to be very fast getting through the last C.P. at
Bullard Farm and I wanted to give myself a few extra minutes for eating
and drinking. I knew we would be fast over the last 65 miles or we would blow
up. I got into Bullard Farm and grabbed a handful of grapes and glasses of
Exceed. I eat just about anything at this point. The folks at the C.P.
knew Melinda was very close to the record and asked me where she was. They
were concerned she had had trouble. I assured them I had just pulled a little
ahead of her to get a couple extra minutes at the C.P. They were excited for
us. Melinda and Tom came in in a couple of minutes and as I expected, she
made a very quick time of it. We pushed out of Bullard Farm in less than 10
minutes and headed toward Boston. Mike tried to get us organized into a
pace line, but the hilly terrain broke us up too much. We settled into
a brisk pace, with one or two riders taking up a point position to keep
the group focused. Not exactly drafting but always chasing the point rider
to make sure to stay focused. The miles seemed to drag by. I spent too
much time looking at the clock. I finally decided we would get there when we
got there and concentrated on riding. The new rider had broken his STI
shifter for the rear derailler (let that be a lesson to you techno junkies)
and I had to show him how to weave to get up the very steep hills going into
Boston. This was somewhat difficult to do seeing as he did not speak English
as a first language and at that time I had trouble speaking period. But
eventually he got the idea and then proceeded to drop me like a bad habit.
Gratitude, eh? But he was riding strong and it was close enough now for
everyone to go on as they could. Melinda, Mike, Tom and I were riding well
together and it was right for us to stay together. Besides about this time
I ran into another problem which had been brewing for a few hundred miles.
I have often noticed the cascading effect one trouble cycling has in creating
another. Riding with a sore knee and sorer feet for so long had caused me
to adjust my position on the saddle to positions I was not used to. the result
was a few whopper saddle sores that were now beginning to make themselves
known. I was strong but just could not stay sitting too long. This trouble
I could handle fairly easy. We were about 20 miles out and as I said I am used
to pushing big gears. This habit stems from a bad child-
hood in which I was deprived of a $3,000 bicycle and had to make do with a
$29.95 Western Auto Special hand me down. No gears, but it taught me to
climb. So I just eased to the back of the pace line (no
sense taking anyone down by my soon to be squirrely riding) shifting into
the highest gear I had and stood up into Boston. The hills are more rolling
here and it was quite comfortable and much more enjoyable to ride standing.
We flew along at 22 to 23 mph. We were very much in the hunt for a sub
58 hour finish and we all began to taste the finish. (And the Sam Adams we
knew would be at the finish). We rolled through one Boston suburb after
another. It seemed like forever before we rolled into Wellesley. Even there
our patience was put to the test by a police officer directing traffic. We
waited through two cycles of traffic. I wondered if one of us would make
a break for it before we were waved on. I could hear the little clock in
each one of our heads. Tick...Tick...Tick...Tick Finally we were waved
through the intersection with about a mile to go. It was 1:55 pm, the ride clock at
57:55. We rounded a corner, went over a bridge over the freeway and there
it was. The Holiday Inn and the finish. We pounded up the hill turned into
the parking lot, down the hill to the back lot and skidded to a halt to
the much appreciated applause of the folks at the finish line.
57:58. It felt good to be in and it felt good to look around at my dirty,
tired, sleepy, but smiling riding buddies.
Melinda had her record. I had my time.
Many thanks to Jennifer Wise for putting on another great event. Also to
Pierce Gafgen for tech support which saved more than a few rides. Great
thanks to Dave and Adam for keeping me in the ride at Ludlow. Special
thanks to all the folks who manned the checkpoints. To Tom Davies and Mike
Lang, thanks for a good ride and good company.
And a special thanks and tip of the hat to Melinda Lyon for this ride and
PBP last year. It is fun to ride with the best.
Ray Edwards
redwards@alphlz.att.com
Newsgroups: rec.bicycles.rides
Subject: The 1996 edition of Boston-Montreal-Boston
From: jbayley@mukluk-19.odi.com (John Bayley)
Date: 06 Sep 1996 20:45:56 GMT
I'm posting the following article on behalf of a friend, Ray Edwards
(redwards@alphlz.att.com), who currently doesn't have newsgroup
access. I hope you enjoy it half as much as I did !
John Bayley
Chelmsford, Massachusetts, USA.
---
BMB '96
I figured the 1996 edition of Boston-Montreal-Boston was going
to be a challenge this year. While I did not believe it could
be anywhere close to the pain in the brain of the 14 hours of
solid rain I had run into in '94, I had set a more ambitious finish
time for myself this year and knew there would be very little room
for luxuries. Like sleep.
At PBP in '95 I had been fortunate enough to have ridden with two
very, very good riders, Melinda Lyon and Larry von Kuster. We had
a great and fun ride. In the intervening year I had debated on whether
to do BMB this year or not. When I finally decided I had nothing better
to do on August 22 through 25, I made the commitment to myself of trying
to give it the best shot possible. I started asking mutual friends if
Melinda was planning on riding it this year. She has ridden BMB several
times and we rode well together in Paris. I had heard that she wanted
to take a shot at the woman's record and I thought it might be a good
trade off. Anyway we eventually got in touch and found we did indeed
have a similar idea as to how we wanted to do BMB. Her best time at
BMB was about 3 ½ or 4 hours better than mine. She went through her
old ride checkpoint sheets and came up with a plan. It was simple.
Just don't stop and don't sleep.
Now I am all for simplicity, but I thought maybe somewhere along the way
I might want to do some really radical things like go to the bathroom,
eat, change shorts, so I kind of negotiated her down to no sleeping,
and very, very quick stops at the checkpoints. I did not tell her I was
going to secretly pack some fresh clothes to some checkpoints in order to
change. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her right? Anyway after a couple
of phone calls we had our plan and was set.
I met Melinda Wednesday before the ride and she drove us over to the start
hotel. I settled in, talked to some friends, ate dinner and went to sleep
looking forward (yeah really) to the ride in the morning.
The 4 am ride started right on time and with no problems. It followed the
same pattern as my '94 experience. Everyone blasting out like they were
doing a neighborhood century. Having the knowledge of what the first day's
riding was going to be like I decided to ease back and let the early hammers
have their way. This strategy was seconded by Melinda and we settled in with
a nice group of 10 or so riders and made our way to Bullard Farm. The passage
was uneventful except for two things. I started to get a twinge in my left
knee and my feet had fallen asleep. Now I realized that sore knees and feet
are just another part of marathon cycling and in the 3 years I have been
playing this game, I have gotten used to much of the discomfort associated
with being on a bike longer than I have ever been in a car. But these little
tweaks were new and different. I had an uneasy feeling as we neared the first
C.P.
We were in and out of Bullard Farm in around 15 minutes. Not all that fast
for the pro's but for someone who usually takes 10 minutes figuring out
where the bagels and cookies are, it was blistering. We headed on toward
Brattleboro in good shape and good spirits. I noticed Melinda looking at
her watch. I think she had each C.P. in the ride scheduled out. But
experience has taught me that it is sometimes easier to ride a schedule than
explain it, so I did what I do best, don't think just ride. The sun had made
an appearance this day. And while it was not hot by Georgia standards, it was
bright and humid and I could see it was beginning to show some effects on some
of the European and northern riders. Melinda and I rode pretty much alone
for most the section to Brattleboro. It has a couple of fairly good hills
in this section so we paced ourselves accordingly. Just before Bratleboro
we are caught by a group of riders. In the group was a woman from Switzerland.
I believe her name was Suzzane. She was a strong rider and lead her group
up to us. Melinda and I joined in and together we all finished the last
couple of miles into Brattleboro.
I don't know why, but the two times I have done BMB, Brattleboro has always
been the worse C.P. for me. It seems I never get the right food or drink
there and always come out of it feeling like I am running short. Part of it
may be the anticipation (or dreading) of the next section to Ludlow. This
stretch is hated by even the most veteran of BMB riders. It is very, very
hilly. Those few of you who have the (mis)fortune to know me personally
know I love to climb and love to push big gears, but I have top admit I
dearly hate this quaint little section of the Vermont countryside. I settled
into the easiest gears I had (39x23) and spun up each sweet, motherloving
hill. And then there is the road condition. I gather from the local riders
that this is not the primary route to anyway in Vermont so the road department
has kinda forgotten about it. I heard a rider sunk into a crack up to the
dropouts and had to get a wrecker to get out, but I cannot confirm that at
this time. Regardless, it is a stretch of road that is best just endured
and not thought about. Unfortunately by now my knee and feet were really
getting to be a pain. Nice electric shock feelings were popping up into
my thigh whenever I twisted my knee just right. And my feet were getting
numb to the ankles. Thank god for Advil. (I would later go on to set the
record for most milligrams of ibuprofen consumed on one BMB by a male rider
from the U.S.) As bad as the stretch was naturally, this particular year
was exceptionally nice in as much as about a ½ mile section just north of
Grafton was washed out and we got to climb a nicely steep hill out of
Grafton on sand. 700x23 tires do not a good mountain bike make. I heard
several folks did the "Laugh-In Tricycle Fallover" spinning up that hill.
Fortunately no one was seriously hurt. But just in case our memories of
the Brattleboro-Ludlow ride would mellow as we put most of it behind us,
the department of roads in Vermont, undoubtedly insulted by what I was
thinking about their work ethic, had decided to repair the section of road
going to and including the Andover Pass climb. Well, maybe repair is a
strong word to use. They graveled it. About two miles worth I think. Nice
sharp, small gravel, with just a hint of tar thrown in for consistency. It
was truly a pleasure to experience this. My personal favorite was to be
chugging up Andover Pass and getting rocks jammed under the brake bridges
on the front and rear brakes and gringing to a unscheduled halt in the middle
of a downstroke. Makes the ride more exciting don't you know. Well after
much effort, cursing, stopping, unjamming and a generally miserable time,
we cleared the gravel section and got moving at a fairly good pace for about
2 minutes. Another nice thing about small, sharp gravel, flats. Melinda
flatted. It was one of those, "I'm hot, tired, aggravated and don't want
to have a flat" flats. We pulled over to the only shady spot on the road
and being a gentleman and a scholar I let Melinda change her tube while
I laid down in the weeds next to the road. I did help her a bit getting
the wheel back on the bike and let her use one of my CO2 cartridges. It only
took 10 minutes to change. Not Tour de France speed, but not bad after
150 miles. Well almost not bad. Melinda has a spacer washer that is supposed
to go on the inside of the dropout and we, in our rush to get back into
the heat of the competition (and because we were both to p.o.'d and tired to
notice) had moved it to the outside of the dropout. The result was she
could not change gears very well. A mere detail to my mind but she seemed
to want to fix it. After a nice descent (no gravel) we pulled over and began
to wrestle with her bike. It (the bike) won the first two falls but eventually
the three of us, a friend of Melinda's who was supporting the ride had driven
up to us by now, overwhelmed the bike and we got back on the road. Now a
quick dash up Mt. Terrible which is the last climb before Ludlow and a glorious
descent to the C.P. was all we had in front of us. Five days later when I
finally topped Mt Terrible and descended into the Ludlow C.P., I sagged into
an easy chair at Ludlow and proceeded to eat. Two seconds later (actually
it was probably closer to 30 minutes but time flies when I am stuffing my
face) Melinda and I were back in the saddle. The rest and Advil had done
wonders for my knee. My feet had settled into a dull constant ache, but
definitely endurable, but I guess I ate a little too much at Ludlow because
my stomach really was trying it's best to give back the baked potato, macaroni
and cheese, brownies (they were very good the first time I tasted them) and
salad I had had in Ludlow. It was trying real hard. About five miles to
Middelbury I started wondering if throwing myself in front of some of
the increasing traffic along the way was a legitimate method of ending the
ride. You know, the "death before dishonor" gambit. Seemed like a good idea
at the time, but then I remembered I had told Melinda I would ride with her
and decided to try to hang on. I advised Melinda of my situation and suggested
that if she heard any usually disgusting noises coming from my direction as
I sucked her wheel through the Vermont countryside, she might want to keep
her eyes looking forward in order to avoid seeing something best left unseen
and undescribed. So as she geared up and starting cranking down the road,
I clinched my teeth shut, put my head down and prayed a moose would run over
me. (Hey, I can't help acts of God and nature can I).
Well as I knew, in the deep dark corners of my mind, would eventually happen
I started to feel almost human a couple of miles before Middlebury Gap. Melinda
had done a great job of pulling us through (not to mention listening to a steady
stream of whining from yours truly) and we had gotten to Middlebury Gap well
before dark. It is a very good thing to try to do this gap in the daylight.
As we began to climb I felt pretty good. I was a little concerned that my
39x23 gearing would cause me trouble here, but my hard work in mountain
training in north Georgia (Central PAC Tour 1994 alumnus will remember north
Georgia I am sure) this summer had prepared me well for the climb. That and
the fact that my good buddy Melinda had done the pulling for the last 50 miles.
But I kept a good watch out for moose during that time so it was not like I
didn't do anything constructive. Anyway I made it up Middlebury with lunch
still where it was supposed to be. Melinda came up a couple a seconds later
and we descended into Middlebury and dinner. Last time I came over this gap
I had a nice conversation with Elvis. But today being very bright and sunny
and given Elvis's natural disposition toward privacy, I did not suspect
I would see him. As I neared the summit however just out of the corner of
my eye I caught a glimpse of a white leather cape (Elvis in the Vegas years)
and heard a faint "Well, that’s nice, thank you very much" but I can't swear
to an actual sighting.
There is really something very nice about making it into Middlebury. It means
you have gotten through the dreaded Brattleboro to Ludlow stretch and have
made most the major climbs going out. There is also the lasagna dinner at
the C.P. I don't know why, I usually am not crazy about Italian food, but
the dinner at Middlebury has really tasted fine the two times I have done
BMB. Maybe a 230 mile appetizer has something to do with it. There were also
a few dozen chocolate donuts there which I seemed to find room for. I also
iced my knee for about 30 minutes and managed to sneak off and put on fresh
clothes without Melinda realizing it. I can be very sneaky when needs be.
We joined up with a few other guys at Middlebury and we rolled out with a
group of six or seven. Three guys were riding on to Burlington to sleep
at a hotel. It was dark now and as always I enjoyed riding at night in a
group. It was a clear, warm night and in spite of the hills between
Middlebury and Burlington we made good time. The three riders dropped
out at Burlington. There we met Dave Frechete (sp) Melinda's friend who
was supporting the ride and had helped us earlier with the spacer. He was
in Burlington to give fluids to folks making the night passage to Rouses
Point. It is 80 something miles to Rouses Point from Middlebury and at
night there are not many places for water or food on the route. We set
out onto the flats across Lake Champlain. One rider of the Middlebury
group we had joined up with had decided to continue on with us. He was
Tom Davies, a RAAM veteran who I believe holds the RAAM senior's record.
I don't know what it is but I know it is some ridiculously fast time.
He would continue on with us for the duration of the ride. He is a very
strong and agreeable rider. The three of us meshed well.
A nice tailwind came up as we went across to Rouses Point. The moon was
a bright quarter and except for some foggy low lands, it was clear and warm.
We talked and rode three abreast in the quiet late night early morning hours.
We passed the small lake towns silently only drawing the attention of a few
dogs startled as we moved past their houses. Their barking the only sound
for miles. It was a peaceful enjoyable passage. For me it was the most
enjoyable part of the ride. My knee had settled down to a dull ache and
the flat land had made it easier to get around sore feet. And with the
tailwind, life was good.
We got into Rouses Point in good shape. We had planned to grab a quick nap
(at least I had, but I don't think sleep is part of Melinda's vocabulary)
but when we took stock of how we felt it was apparent that after a quick
breakfast, we would be more than ready to head on to Montreal. So after a
quick breakfast of donuts, coffee and Exceed (it tasted about like it sounds)
we rolled out toward Montreal. I can't remember, but I think it was light
by now, but I do remember it had clouded up in the early morning and a light
sprinkle had started. The roads were slightly wet as we crossed into Canada.
The road to Montreal is flat and we still had a quartering tailwind. It was
not hard riding but my knee starting sending its little love messages up and
down my leg ( I had forgotten to get my Advil fix in Rouses Point) and my feet
were really hurting badly now. In the early morning daylight I began to feel
the first feeling of drowsiness. We maintained a loose pace line into metro
Montreal and then went through the 2 million stop signs to the C.P. I was
looking forward to a bit of shut eye and a good feeding in Montreal.
A funny thing happen to us on the way to the C.P. We seemed to inadvertently
have draw the ire of a particularly militant member of Montreal's transit
system. I was in the lead going down a 4 lane boulevard in Montreal, eyes
blinking and head nodding with sleep when we were passed by a very big (at
least to my sleepy eyes) bus. As it came past us it seemed to start cutting
toward the curb in front of us as if the driver was pulling over to unload
passengers and had not seen us. When the bus got to within about 6 inches
of me I decided that maybe he really did not know he was trying to occupy
my space and even if he did know it was rapidly become a moot point as the
thing he was using to occupy the space (namely a bus) was much bigger that the
thing I was occupying the space with (I was still on a bicycle) and he would
most likely win the battle for the space. I slammed on the brakes and he ran
up on the curb. "Nice landing" I thought to myself. Then the bus doors opened
and the driver boinced down onto the sidewalk and proceeded, in the best
Quebecian French I have ever heard, to chew us a new one for riding in the
street when just 5 lanes away on the other side of the road was a crumbling,
grate lined, broken bottle filled bike path just waiting to be used. He
went on for several minutes before he took breath and stopped waiting for our
reply. After a few seconds of what must have been the blankest stares any
mortal has ever received, I answered "Huh". You see while I can almost ask
where to find the bathroom (a great and necessary skill for PBP) I do not
understand hysterical French. The driver being the sensitive and intelligent
creature he was, quickly recognized my plight and proceeded to tear me another
one in very good English. Two or three minutes later after another set of
blank stares I answered again. "Huh?" I am a true wit in these situations.
He apparently was expected some more substantial reply for he stared at our
stares for a few seconds, muttered a few French words which I could not catch
but am sure were probably to wish us a safe and easy journey, turned and got
back on the bus. The last I saw of him as I continued on down the boulevard,
he tried to take a corner on two wheels after a red light. Well the funny
thing that happened (aside form the Quebecian-American relations) was I was no
longer sleepy and my knee did not hurt. Amazing what near death experiences
will do for you. We pushed through the final few miles to the C.P.
We had obviously gotten to the C.P. early. It was open but the only food
available was pizza (my non-Italian stomach did not exactly jump at that),
fruit (who eats health food on these rides?) and dehydrated chicken soup
which for some reason sounded pretty good to me. I tired to make the soup
in a small drinking cup with not yet hot water. It was close. The noodles
actually got a little soft after a while. Well I managed to get most of it
in me as well as a hand full of grapes and a bagel. I was still wide awake
and knew that it would be useless to try to nap and as my companions were about
in the same shape as myself, we pushed on through Montreal. Managed to
negotiate the 2 million stop signs without incurring the wrath of the transit
authority and made it into the countryside.
Well that nice quartering tailwind we had going into Montreal was now a not
so nice headwind coming out. We quickly formed a pace line and traded pulls.
We were managing about a 17 to 18 mph pace. Not bad after 375 miles and into
a pretty stiff and rising headwind. For me drowsiness was now starting to
rear its ugly head, but with 30 or so miles to go to Rouses Point, I knew
there was little chance of a break for a couple of hours. I called
on my secret weapon. Coca Cola. Being born and raised in Atlanta, we are
nursed on Coke from two or three days old. Blood tests prove people from
Atlanta have a high concentration of corn syrup, carbonated water and
caffeine in the system. It is in the water down here. So as soon as we
came upon a store (actually a gas station) I pulled in to get a recharge.
Interesting thing about Canada, they have their own money. It ain't like
ours. The two gentlemen sitting on the old tire stacks in front of the
gas station did not seem too happy to exchange American money for Canadian
Coca Cola. They did not want to make change. After some really intense
high level negotiations, I convinced them it was okay for me to give them
a whole American dollar for a 16 ounce Coke and not want to get any change.
Hey I am a big spender when I need to be. Anyway, Coke in hand, I chugged
it down (16 ounces is child's play around these parts) and hopped back up
on the bike and ploughed into the headwind. A few miles and bleches later I
was a new man. We maintained a very good pace line for the next 40 miles into
Rouses Point. About 20 miles out we came up on another solo rider who fell into
our pace line.
Getting back to Rouses Point is a real boost. It means you are over half
way. You also get to see a lot of the riders coming out and think to
yourself how great it feels not to have to go out to Montreal. Sort of
"Nah, nah, na, nah, nah, I've already done that." But of course you don't
really say that. You think it, but just don't say it. There were quite a few
hallow eyed folks in the C.P. I imagine if I had looked in a mirror I
would have looked the same. However I felt very good and was ready to enjoy
the now bolstered menu at the C.P. Rice Krispies, Frosted Flakes and donuts
never tasted so good. And the Coffee was fresh and strong. It was a good
stop. I recovered a lot of calories there.
Everyone had been talking about the cold front that was going to come through
and drop the temperatures and cause the wind the shift out the north. At this
point a north wind would have been a tail wind which almost always a good
thing to have on a long ride, also as we all know tailwinds are never around
when you need them and the cold front never seemed to materialize and the
wind stayed strong out of the southwest. As we rolled out of Rouses Point
it began to rain in earnest and soon we were riding in a steady downpour
along a very busy road that had a great many places that the good old
Vermont department of roads had decided to work on. It was a long, wet,
windy and muddy stretch. We were soon covered in a thin layer of mud.
About half way through the Lake Champlain stretch going into Burlington,
we caught up with a rider we crossed the border with. He had left
Rouses Point before us but was not riding alone as fast as we were riding
together. He seemed a bit tired and did not mind riding in with us. It had been
raining an hour now and I was just wondering when one of us would run into some of
the rain washed glass that always seems to be deposited in the road during heavy
downpours, when while climbing a short hill, Tom yelled he flated. Melinda
and I stopped and turned to wait, but our friend who did not mind
riding in with us, decided to push on on his own. To my mind this
was a little aggravating but there is no rule that says you stop when someone
in the group you are riding with flats. I just shrugged and thought that
usually what goes around comes around. Luckily and against every rule
of flats I know of Tom had flatted on the front tire. I am sure this breaks
some fundamental law of nature. Flatting the front tire just is never done.
It is always the rear tire, but we were not about to look a gift flat in the
mouth and quickly replaced the tube and got on down the road. It was still
windy and raining, but as we neared the end of the lake stretch my spirits
rose a little. At least we would be out of the main force of the wind. In
10 or so miles we caught up again with the Frenchman who again appeared to be
struggling a bit on his own and fell in with us again. We made it through
to Burlington with no more troubles and fought our way through the hills
and traffic to Middlebury. This particular section was the low point in
the ride for me. The mud and rain had contributed to this feeling, but mainly
it was the large amount of traffic along this section that made me feel a
little down. the drivers of Vermont really seemed to resent us being on the
road. I have never been honked at and shouted at by so many people. I could
understand it on the highways, but it continued well into the back roads
going into Middlebury. This was the only stretch in the ride I felt this
way. It could be a false impression aided a great deal by fatigue and
aggravation at the weather. Anyway I was very glad to get into Middlebury.
We got into Middlebury around 5:30 or so and wanted to get over Middlebury
Gap in the daylight so we decided to take off at 6:15. Again the Middlebury
C.P. was well stocked and I enjoyed pizza, cookies and donuts. This time I
made sure to pop a few Advil while I was waiting. I slipped into some fresh
clothes and our group of 4, Melinda, Tom, the rider from the border crossing
and myself. Melinda had to make a short stop on the way
out and told Tom and I to go on and she would catch up. Tom, the rider
and I rolled on slowly. We got to Middlebury Gap just at dusk and began to
climb. I pulled a little ahead of Tom and the Frenchman on the first incline
and got out of sight in the curves and bends. At the second set of climbs,
Tom caught up with me. We climbed slowly but steadily. We passed a REAL moose
(not the illusionary type I would see later that night)I asked Tom if he
saw Melinda or the other rider. He said our independent friend started to have shifting
troubles on the climb and had to really slow down, but he had not seen Melinda
since we left. About 3/4 of the way up the gap, Dave Jordan, another ride
support person drove by and told us Melinda was back on the road and a ways
back. I got a little ahead of Tom on the final inclines and topped the gap
just as the sun was setting behind us. I did not want to descend in the dark
so I went on down into Hancock to wait. By the time I got to Hancock it was
dark. Tom and I waited for Melinda. Tom was getting sleepy. He almost fell
asleep waiting. Melinda, Tom and I got together again in Hancock and rode on.
We were joined on the road by Mike Lang a very good rider and a good friend
from Montreal. He had been behind us by about 30 minutes since Montreal and
had been trying to catch up with us. The four of us continued on to Ludlow
in the dark.
By now sleep was definitely becoming an issue. I began to look around for
a Canadian bus driver to get me fired up again, but I could not seem to
find one. It was not without trying. I saw many interesting things that
evening. A few stray moose (mooses?), dogs, cars, trucks, UFO's, no Elvis
(it was late and probably past his bedtime) and several other hallucinations
of varied color and shape. But the real kicker was about 10 miles from
Ludlow. It was foggy and we were riding just below the low clouds. I started
to see a pulsing blue cloud that seemed to follow me where ever I went. It
was really quite pretty. I convinced myself that it could not really be a UFO
and we must be riding around an airport and it was low flying aircraft. I
knew it must be near Ludlow since it was the only town around big enough to
have an airport. Well such is the world of a mind short on sleep. There was
another explanation that I had not considered. State Trooper. I don't know
how long he had been behind us with his lights on. For several hundred yards
I would guess. We all noticed him about the same time (this was really a group
you would want to ride with) and it took us several seconds to figure out
what to do. None of us had ever been pulled over on a deserted, country road
in the middle of the night. But eventually we figured that we probably
could not out run him so we pulled over. I have to give him credit, he did
not once ask what the heck we were doing out there at that time, he just asked
us to ride as close to the shoulder as we could and ride in single file,
because when we were riding two abreast it looked like we were a car. I did
not want to tell him that that was the object of riding two abreast. I was
having a hard time not laughing at the situation. (I get pretty punchy without
sleep), so we just said yes sir and watched him drive away. We continued on
riding sort of single file and as close to the side as we could.
By now I was pretty well shot. It was going on 43 hours of pretty much
straight riding. My knee was hurting and my feet were absolutely numb to the
ankles. I began to fear that it would be my feet that would cause me to
abandon the ride. I rolled into Ludlow very tired and very low. I asked
Dave Ferchete to see if he could find me some running or walking shoes and
clipped pedals to try to finish the ride in. He said he had some running
shoes (it turned out he had almost everything in his van including parts
to lighting systems that fit Melinda's when hers self destructed) but he
did not know of any clipped pedals. I asked him to ask around and went to
grab some sleep. It was about midnight when I laid down for a quick 30
minute nap.
30 minutes that felt like 30 seconds later, I was woken up and stumbled
downstairs to get something to eat and get ready to take off. We had
decided to leave at 1 am. We were roughly 170 tough miles away and were
looking at a 58 hour ride if we did not waste any time. As I walked out
into the driveway, Dave said he could not find any pedals, but I was
welcomed to use his running shoes. The thought of riding on clippless
pedals with running shoes over the worse section of road I have ever
seen in the rain in the night did not sound too safe, so I reluctantly
sat down to put on my riding shoes and gruntout the ride as best as I
could. One of the C.P. workers happen to overhear Dave and I talking
and said he had a pair I could use. Dave grabbed Adam (the worker with
the pedals) and off they ran into the darkness. As if by magic my bike
appeared before me, new pedals installed, waiting for my now running
shoe clad feet to slide into them. One of the other C.P. workers said
she thought I would have a hard time climbing in those shoes. I just
smiled and with my feet feeling better than they had in two days, said
"Watch me".
While the ride to Brattleboro from Ludlow is no better than the ride out,
I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It took a while
to get used to the setup, but within a couple of climbs I was doing fine.
My feet were still asleep, but I no longer felt like I had burning coals in
my shoes. It was wonderful. For the first time since Montreal I started
thinking in terms of speed instead of survival.
It rained hard off and on during this section. The road was dark and rough.
The gravel section on Andover Pass was nerve wracking. Miraculously
no one flatted. In Ludlow we were joined by another rider. He looked
strong and rode along with us easily. Except for various minor mechanical
troubles (my waterbottle cage vibrated off and I lost my mini-pump) the only
major incident was when the new rider fell asleep and crashed. It was a
spectacular crash. He went head over heels literally, but emerged uninjured
and bike undamaged. Except for an obvious embarrassment, he was fine and lucky.
We went through Peavy, Vt. which is 5 miles from Bratleboro but is really
the end of the bad road. We cruised into Brattleboro just before dawn.
We would eat and rest until daylight and push the final 114 miles to Boston.
As usual I was late getting out of the C.P. This time I was answering nature's
call, when the other's rolled out. I knew I could catch them and did so within
a few miles. My feet were feeling great. I felt great. We all felt the
pull of the finish. It was still over 100 miles away, but after 650 or so
miles I was strong. I concentrated on holding back and we rolled along at a
good pace. It was very foggy and humid. After a while we settled into a
gentle cadence. Each one started trying to calculate the time and distance
remaining to try to set a doable time to shoot for. At this point it was
fairly apparent Melinda was well within the woman's record which I believe
was around 59:30, but it was also evident that with effort we might be able to
go even better than that. It is very difficult to do any mental exercises
after 50 hours of virtually no sleep, but I thought we could get in in the
57:30 to 58:00 range. But I thought it would take a push. I was getting
sleepy again and just before we got to Mt. Grace I pushed out a little to try
to wake myself up. It started to rain again and between the effort and the
rain my sleepiness passed and I felt very strong. Mike, the new rider and I
linked up and rode the remaining few miles into Bullard Farm at a good pace.
I knew Melinda was going to be very fast getting through the last C.P. at
Bullard Farm and I wanted to give myself a few extra minutes for eating
and drinking. I knew we would be fast over the last 65 miles or we would blow
up. I got into Bullard Farm and grabbed a handful of grapes and glasses of
Exceed. I eat just about anything at this point. The folks at the C.P.
knew Melinda was very close to the record and asked me where she was. They
were concerned she had had trouble. I assured them I had just pulled a little
ahead of her to get a couple extra minutes at the C.P. They were excited for
us. Melinda and Tom came in in a couple of minutes and as I expected, she
made a very quick time of it. We pushed out of Bullard Farm in less than 10
minutes and headed toward Boston. Mike tried to get us organized into a
pace line, but the hilly terrain broke us up too much. We settled into
a brisk pace, with one or two riders taking up a point position to keep
the group focused. Not exactly drafting but always chasing the point rider
to make sure to stay focused. The miles seemed to drag by. I spent too
much time looking at the clock. I finally decided we would get there when we
got there and concentrated on riding. The new rider had broken his STI
shifter for the rear derailler (let that be a lesson to you techno junkies)
and I had to show him how to weave to get up the very steep hills going into
Boston. This was somewhat difficult to do seeing as he did not speak English
as a first language and at that time I had trouble speaking period. But
eventually he got the idea and then proceeded to drop me like a bad habit.
Gratitude, eh? But he was riding strong and it was close enough now for
everyone to go on as they could. Melinda, Mike, Tom and I were riding well
together and it was right for us to stay together. Besides about this time
I ran into another problem which had been brewing for a few hundred miles.
I have often noticed the cascading effect one trouble cycling has in creating
another. Riding with a sore knee and sorer feet for so long had caused me
to adjust my position on the saddle to positions I was not used to. the result
was a few whopper saddle sores that were now beginning to make themselves
known. I was strong but just could not stay sitting too long. This trouble
I could handle fairly easy. We were about 20 miles out and as I said I am used
to pushing big gears. This habit stems from a bad child-
hood in which I was deprived of a $3,000 bicycle and had to make do with a
$29.95 Western Auto Special hand me down. No gears, but it taught me to
climb. So I just eased to the back of the pace line (no
sense taking anyone down by my soon to be squirrely riding) shifting into
the highest gear I had and stood up into Boston. The hills are more rolling
here and it was quite comfortable and much more enjoyable to ride standing.
We flew along at 22 to 23 mph. We were very much in the hunt for a sub
58 hour finish and we all began to taste the finish. (And the Sam Adams we
knew would be at the finish). We rolled through one Boston suburb after
another. It seemed like forever before we rolled into Wellesley. Even there
our patience was put to the test by a police officer directing traffic. We
waited through two cycles of traffic. I wondered if one of us would make
a break for it before we were waved on. I could hear the little clock in
each one of our heads. Tick...Tick...Tick...Tick Finally we were waved
through the intersection with about a mile to go. It was 1:55 pm, the ride clock at
57:55. We rounded a corner, went over a bridge over the freeway and there
it was. The Holiday Inn and the finish. We pounded up the hill turned into
the parking lot, down the hill to the back lot and skidded to a halt to
the much appreciated applause of the folks at the finish line.
57:58. It felt good to be in and it felt good to look around at my dirty,
tired, sleepy, but smiling riding buddies.
Melinda had her record. I had my time.
Many thanks to Jennifer Wise for putting on another great event. Also to
Pierce Gafgen for tech support which saved more than a few rides. Great
thanks to Dave and Adam for keeping me in the ride at Ludlow. Special
thanks to all the folks who manned the checkpoints. To Tom Davies and Mike
Lang, thanks for a good ride and good company.
And a special thanks and tip of the hat to Melinda Lyon for this ride and
PBP last year. It is fun to ride with the best.
Ray Edwards
redwards@alphlz.att.com