Kangatopia

I’ve ridden in plenty of bike rallies in the last year and a half, but I haven’t ever tried to write a review about one - except to say, I rode 33 miles yesterday or I rode my first rally and managed 16 miles.  (I was so proud of myself for that first rally, by the way, though I was worn out afterwards.  Now, I ride 15.8 miles pretty much every day.)  But, the rally I rode in yesterday was special.  It may turn out to be the last rally I can do this year and in spite of what Shep calls, granola bar roads, I am glad we did it.

The ride started pretty well.  We managed to get there in just enough time to unload our bikes, make a quick pit stop in the bathrooms at the elementary school with the child sized potties (perfect for squatting), and get to the start line maybe 3 or 4 minutes before the ride began.  When we pulled up to the start, an announcer was warning everyone about gravel and then she started the handful of racers with a short and kind of unenthusiastic, almost embarrassed, ‘ready, set, go’.  And off they went.  Maybe 2 minutes later, she started the rest of us.  Shep and I fell back to let the first crowd get in front of us, and then we just sort of merged into an orderly bunch of riders.  We were are all more or less crammed into the confines of the street, and had to make one scary turn into an intersection half blocked by a truck.  The vibe in the air felt as if the same thought crossed everyone’s mind at the same time, Please God, it would suck to hit pavement this early in the ride.

Then, the riders stretched out and we were off.  The first seven miles or so were hill after hill, and I was hoping that it wasn’t going to turn out like one ride I rode last Autumn which was *only* hills.  That ride is coming up again in a couple of weeks, and I’ve already decided to put my muscles to good use that weekend on the remodeling project.  But, by the time we reached the first rest stop, it turned out that the roads were mostly flat until we reached Leonard, home of the Infamous Leonard Hills.

Shep rode on ahead of me, and waited for me at each rest stop.  His strength and endurance is greater than mine, and I long ago gave up on trying to keep up.  So, on the way to rest stop #1 I was caught on film by the Great John Sadowski, the man who created and manages one of the best local bicycling sites around. 

After the first rest stop and Shep was long gone, I heard a man behind me say, “Hey, #63!  That’s a good number!”  His accent was thick with Brooklyn tones, and he rode up beside me and introduced himself as Glenn, and his riding buddy as Randy.  Glenn, Randy and I had a great time keeping each other entertained for the 9 or so miles to rest stop #2. 

I met up with Glenn and Randy one more time just before they turned off to take the 39 mile route, and Shep and I went on our way towards the Leonard Hills to finish the 46 mile.  Glenn told me this great story about how his then 12 year old son asked him if he could do the MS150 and after his son proved to him that he could handle a 40 mile ride on his own,  (Glenn sent him out on his bike alone to a town 20 miles away.  Just for the record, I would doubtless follow behind Bear or the girls if they ever asked the same.) Glenn signed him up for the MS150 (a 150 mile bike ride over 2 days to benefit MS), his son completed it and has been riding ever since.

Then, the fun started.  At this point I think we were 31 miles into the ride.  Shep told me that he was going to ride straight through to the finish, and that he would wait for me at the truck at the end.  I figured 15 miles, even with these scary hills we’d been hearing about at the rest stops, would be easy and he wouldn’t have to wait long.  So, he took off and I paced myself to keep my energy levels from decreasing too quickly.  All I knew about the Leonard hills was that they were a series of roller coaster hills.  Glenn had given me some pointers about how to use momentum to carry me from peak to peak, and I was ready to try.  By the time we reached the hills, which was only a few miles from the rest stop where Glenn, Randy and I had parted ways, I was psyched.  Now, in the re-telling, I realize that the last hill has pretty much confused my memory of the preceding ones.  I remember being a little out of breath and working hard at the second to last hill.  There was a very nice volunteer stationed at the peak who told me there was only one more to go.  I descended at 31.5 miles per hour and was only thinking about how I could build as much speed as possible to throw myself up the next (and last) hill.  It seemed like I managed to get maybe 30 feet shy of the peak with very little effort.  I shifted my back gears to the easiest hill climbing position possible, but didn’t touch my front gear.  I have a real problem shifting the front.  The only time I’ve been able to do it without a huge amount of effort is when I haven’t actually been atop the bike, so I never shift it for fear of not being able to get it back in the middle again.  This meant that I traveled to the little white mailbox at the peak of that hill just fast enough to keep my bike from falling over.  I was going 4 or 5 miles per hour, and gasping for air.  I didn’t know if my heart was strong enough, but I sang a little mantra - This will not kill me.  This will not kill me. -  and managed to get all the way to the white mailbox.  Once there, I stopped and caught my breath.  My heart was beating against my chest, but it was done.  Somehow, without shifting my front gear, I managed to reach the top of that hill while on my bike, and I didn’t have to walk it.  I did see someone walk to the peak, and I didn’t know if it was something to worry about.  He looked like he took cycling a little more seriously than the average recreational cyclist (ie, super nice bike and matching cycling shorts and jersey) and he hopped off his bike as soon as his momentum ran out.  On one hand I was even more proud of myself that I didn’t walk it, but on the other I was concerned that maybe he had a reason that didn’t have anything to do with energy.  I never found out.  There is a lot of pride involved in the decision to walk or ride up a hill like that, and I am absolutely certain that he was in no mood to discuss it.

By this point, I was okay.  My muscles felt tired, but I didn’t think it would be a problem to get to the finish.  The roads the rest of the way were fairly flat, if not smooth, and I was congratulated by just about every person who passed me on getting to the top of the hill.  I congratulated them all right back.  The celebration felt almost endless.  That is, until I rode back into Bonham.  By the time I got back, many of the other riders were gone and there was no celebratory fanfare to meet the cyclists.  Shep and I both commented on how anti-climactic it felt.  It took me awhile to find Shep and his truck, and by the time I did I was so tired that I almost couldn’t keep from crying.  That ride took the wind out of my sails but in a weird way.  I napped on the way home, but couldn’t sleep again after that.  I felt well rested, but completely drained.  The route turned out to be 49.5 miles, not 46.  This happens a lot on these rides that the advertised mileage is usually less than the actual mileage.  Sometimes this is okay, and sometimes not.  It more or less depends on how ready to collapse you are when you realize the difference. 

Overall, this ride was great.  The volunteers were in places where they were needed.  The rest stops were moderately well stocked, and the hills were challenging but not too plentiful.  The other cyclists on this ride were really friendly in a way I haven’t experienced before.  The downside of the ride fell to the roads.  They sucked.  But still, I think there’s a good chance I’ll ride this one again next year.