The Historian
02-14-08, 09:35 AM
In honor and homage of the fellow who just rode his first metric century on a Trek Navigator, here's my account of of my first metric, on a Navigator, from last summer, as published on my blog. I thought I had posted it here, but the search engine doesn't bring it up.
An Ordinary Metric Century
Laboring under a sense of obligation can put a damper on your fun. If you let it.
And for a small part of the White Clay Bicycle Club's Delaware Double Cross Metric, I was letting obligation run riot. Steve Scheetz had been kind enough to look over my bike a few days before the ride. However, his payment for the service was a steep one. "I want to read a full write-up on the BCP list" he said as I backed out of his driveway. And a "full write up" was very much on my mind as I and my friends Henry and Neil (yes, two of us) pulled into the Middletown High School parking lot, the start of the ride. How would I give this event, this ride, an epic and heroic cast? "Bikes and the man, I sing...."
Thoughts of a grand account of the ride was the last thing I should have had on my mind. The lot was full of bikes and riders warming up, metal and flesh joined in a controlled madness of color. Diamond frame mountain and road bikes, recumbents, tandems, even a folder was being ridden today. The sky was clear, and the sun shone on the brightly colored jerseys and shirts the riders wore. The riders from the other side of the parking lot looked like a moving display of exotic butterflies.
And soon enough, I was one of them, and I and my friends were on the road. For the first few miles we rode as a pack, and exchanged conversation. Henry, a bike commuter and faster rider, soon grew tired of the Neils' fondness for puns and pulled ahead. "Other" Neil, 45 pounds lighter than me and 5 years younger, raced to keep up with him, and I fell behind at the first rise. Other cyclists passed me, including BCP's Linda McGrane, although she rode with me and chatted for a minute.
By the 12 mile mark I had lost sight of my friends. And since I was getting hungry, I dismounted and 'fueled' on a banana and water. (Between my balance and structural problems and my inexperience, drinking and eating while riding isn't a good idea.) I arrived at the first rest stop, Odessa Fire Hall, about ten minutes behind my friends. This rest stop, like both of the others on the ride, was well stocked with food, water, and Gatorade, and staffed with friendly volunteers.
I and my friends left together again. The pattern repeated itself on the next leg; Henry sped up, Neil gave chase, and I fell behind. This wasn't unexpected, and it did have the side benefit of allowing me to view the beautiful Delaware countryside. I stopped again along the Delaware River and fueled. And to get off the bike saddle; like many people, I haven't found "the one" yet. Since Delaware is flat, it's hard to find a place to stand up on the bike. In fact, the only rise I walked during the entire metric, into downtown Odessa, I walked simply to get off the bike.
I arrived at the midpoint, the Middletown High School, 15 minutes behind my friends. After more fuel and water, and little rest, we set off. Henry pulled ahead from the first, but this time Neil stayed behind. Keeping up with Henry was too much for him. So the Neils on Wheels Bike Touring Team rode together the rest of the ride, with bad puns from Neil and mangled quotations from Shakespeare from me. It was fortunate no one else rode with us. Our average speed was 12 MPH, which was my average for the ride.
By the time we reached Clayton Fire Hall, the third and last rest stop, the strain was beginning to tell on me. My posture was horrible from riding bent over for hours, and I felt drained. Neil and I stopped more and more frequently, to get off the saddle and for me to try to straighten up. Despite constant fueling and going through 70 ounces of fluid, I was running low on energy. By the 60 mile mark on my computer, Neil was pulling ahead about a third of a mile. By mile 62 I slipped off the saddle and nearly spilled. Fortunately I landed on my feet and stopped the bike. After drinking more water, I got back on and caught up with Neil.
We both pulled into the Middletown High School after three PM, six and a half hours after the start. My rolling time was 5 hours 45 minutes. According to my computer, I had ridden 69 miles. Henry had been waiting for us for about 45 minutes. We posed for a group photo, and packed up and left.
So, you see, there was nothing heroic about my ride. It wasn't in the class of Boston-Montreal-Boston, or some exciting tour of the Westphalian wine country, or any of the 150 odd MS rides. It was just an ordinary metric century, and I was as perplexed about what to write at the end of it as I was at the beginning. But as I doze in the passenger seat of Henry's truck, I recalled a 385 pound man who could barely walk a city block, and who was winded by seven minutes on a stationary bicycle. That man had dreams too. One of them was to teach himself to ride a bike. However, he never would have dreamed he would one day ride 100 kilometers. And that he would consider the accomplishment of this task as 'ordinary'.
Who says you have to be epic or heroic in your accomplishments? I'll settle for being ordinary. An ordinary cyclist.
An Ordinary Metric Century
Laboring under a sense of obligation can put a damper on your fun. If you let it.
And for a small part of the White Clay Bicycle Club's Delaware Double Cross Metric, I was letting obligation run riot. Steve Scheetz had been kind enough to look over my bike a few days before the ride. However, his payment for the service was a steep one. "I want to read a full write-up on the BCP list" he said as I backed out of his driveway. And a "full write up" was very much on my mind as I and my friends Henry and Neil (yes, two of us) pulled into the Middletown High School parking lot, the start of the ride. How would I give this event, this ride, an epic and heroic cast? "Bikes and the man, I sing...."
Thoughts of a grand account of the ride was the last thing I should have had on my mind. The lot was full of bikes and riders warming up, metal and flesh joined in a controlled madness of color. Diamond frame mountain and road bikes, recumbents, tandems, even a folder was being ridden today. The sky was clear, and the sun shone on the brightly colored jerseys and shirts the riders wore. The riders from the other side of the parking lot looked like a moving display of exotic butterflies.
And soon enough, I was one of them, and I and my friends were on the road. For the first few miles we rode as a pack, and exchanged conversation. Henry, a bike commuter and faster rider, soon grew tired of the Neils' fondness for puns and pulled ahead. "Other" Neil, 45 pounds lighter than me and 5 years younger, raced to keep up with him, and I fell behind at the first rise. Other cyclists passed me, including BCP's Linda McGrane, although she rode with me and chatted for a minute.
By the 12 mile mark I had lost sight of my friends. And since I was getting hungry, I dismounted and 'fueled' on a banana and water. (Between my balance and structural problems and my inexperience, drinking and eating while riding isn't a good idea.) I arrived at the first rest stop, Odessa Fire Hall, about ten minutes behind my friends. This rest stop, like both of the others on the ride, was well stocked with food, water, and Gatorade, and staffed with friendly volunteers.
I and my friends left together again. The pattern repeated itself on the next leg; Henry sped up, Neil gave chase, and I fell behind. This wasn't unexpected, and it did have the side benefit of allowing me to view the beautiful Delaware countryside. I stopped again along the Delaware River and fueled. And to get off the bike saddle; like many people, I haven't found "the one" yet. Since Delaware is flat, it's hard to find a place to stand up on the bike. In fact, the only rise I walked during the entire metric, into downtown Odessa, I walked simply to get off the bike.
I arrived at the midpoint, the Middletown High School, 15 minutes behind my friends. After more fuel and water, and little rest, we set off. Henry pulled ahead from the first, but this time Neil stayed behind. Keeping up with Henry was too much for him. So the Neils on Wheels Bike Touring Team rode together the rest of the ride, with bad puns from Neil and mangled quotations from Shakespeare from me. It was fortunate no one else rode with us. Our average speed was 12 MPH, which was my average for the ride.
By the time we reached Clayton Fire Hall, the third and last rest stop, the strain was beginning to tell on me. My posture was horrible from riding bent over for hours, and I felt drained. Neil and I stopped more and more frequently, to get off the saddle and for me to try to straighten up. Despite constant fueling and going through 70 ounces of fluid, I was running low on energy. By the 60 mile mark on my computer, Neil was pulling ahead about a third of a mile. By mile 62 I slipped off the saddle and nearly spilled. Fortunately I landed on my feet and stopped the bike. After drinking more water, I got back on and caught up with Neil.
We both pulled into the Middletown High School after three PM, six and a half hours after the start. My rolling time was 5 hours 45 minutes. According to my computer, I had ridden 69 miles. Henry had been waiting for us for about 45 minutes. We posed for a group photo, and packed up and left.
So, you see, there was nothing heroic about my ride. It wasn't in the class of Boston-Montreal-Boston, or some exciting tour of the Westphalian wine country, or any of the 150 odd MS rides. It was just an ordinary metric century, and I was as perplexed about what to write at the end of it as I was at the beginning. But as I doze in the passenger seat of Henry's truck, I recalled a 385 pound man who could barely walk a city block, and who was winded by seven minutes on a stationary bicycle. That man had dreams too. One of them was to teach himself to ride a bike. However, he never would have dreamed he would one day ride 100 kilometers. And that he would consider the accomplishment of this task as 'ordinary'.
Who says you have to be epic or heroic in your accomplishments? I'll settle for being ordinary. An ordinary cyclist.