Preface - This is how it turned out when I started to work on this year's write up. It's as though I am writing a letter to my friend Jean in California. Literary license can be a dangerous thing when I sit down at my keyboard and share another MS150. Your indulgence is greatly appreciated as I begin???
Jean, it was another weekend on the bike.
So, how was Boston this year for you? As you were just starting out from Hopkinton on Monday, I was knocking back another bucket of food and a unit of Blue Bell, endeavoring to catch up from my weekend's calorie deficit.
Here's how it happened.
Marlene and I were planning on meeting at Garage R in Austin and riding the bus down to Houston together. Marlene was one of my house mates at Hell Week. Has Bill D mentioned her? She's doing a PAC tour this summer, Washington to Virginia, in 29 days, with 100,000 feet of climbing. She wanted a good weekend of miles and was hoping that I would bring some baked goods. I delivered mongo muffins and cinnamon raison braid.
Jean, we've done some rides together, but none of them are quite like the MS150. It's a 180 mile weekend with massive crowds, ugly pace lines, extraordinary tan lines and an incredibly wide range of cyclists and cycling abilities. I think that this was my 14th year, and the weather has varied as widely and wildly as the assortments of bikes that you'll see during the weekend. Racer boys on tricked out carbon fiber, style affectationists with exotic imports and mileage mavens on well used steeds ming le with less athletically blessed tourists on department store pseudo-cycles and dirt dawgs on high end double bouncers, along with every other variation and permutation of self powered wheeled vehicles possible. I just want to make a journey of the wee kend, staying out of trouble and transforming the roads into a melange of miles and smiles. And it marks the end of my cycling Spring after which I may de-periodize down into a brief interval of sloth and lethargy before I get ready for the onslaught of Summer centuries.
I have learned to expect the random coincidence during my years at the MS150, and this one did not disappoint. As I boarded the bus, I was greeted by Kathy, the owner of the club where Carie has taught fitness classes for nine years. I admonished her s trongly for not having made it over for dinner in our new/old home yet, for I am told that dinner is often a marvelous event there. She was accompanied by several members of their tri club. Marlene greeted a passel of her friends. I reintroduced mysel f to Kelly, who is a friend of Dan the Man and Johnny Danger, who had been life-flighted off the ride on day one four years earlier, only to rejoin us and finish the ride on day two.
Camp songs, a few beers, a bake sale for democracy and a couple hours on the bus delivered us to the Omni, our sumptuous accommodations for the next 11 hours. We were supposed to meet up with Tim, our team coordinator for David Weekley Homes, who would distribute our David Weekley Homes Team packets. I had met Tim a month earlier on a rainy, cold bike ride and wasn't sure that I would recognize him dry in street clothes, but I was relatively sure that I would hear my name called out at some propitious moment during the evening and that the serendipitous winds of fate would bring us together. Marlene wasn't so sure, but she had never been to an MS150 with me before and there wasn't too much that we could do about it as I didn't have any phone numbers for my fellow David Weekley Homes team members.
So we did the tripped the light fantastic, did cart wheels across the floor, I was feeling kind of seasick but the crowds called out for more. And we attacked the buffet.
Now the Omni is just overrun by the MS150. The big ball room has packet pick up and the expo. Every meeting room has sponsors, schmoozers and cyclophiles beyond description or comprehension. Bicycles, big bags and bewilderment fill the elevators. Car s, SUVs, monster trucks (this is Texas, after all), buses, trailers, promo vehicles and hondo-bagos fill every parking spot and solid looking piece of grass.
As we patrol the parking lot awaiting the anticipated arrival of the trailer with the David Weekley Homes Team members' bicycles, it happens. My name bounds across the parking lot heard from afar. It's Tim with bags of jerseys for me, Marlene, Erin, and Preston - my recruits to the David Weekley Homes team. A casual saunter to the other end of the hotel rewards us with Marlene's and Kelly's bikes.
Which means that it's bedtime, as the next day will begin early and get long. Our plans are to meet Lenae and Lara Z behind the hotel at 6:15, have our picture taken with the David Weekley Homes Team, talk about it, check the wind speed and direction, a nalyze the forecast, consider our departure options, reassure the ingenues among us, reconsider that penultimate trip to flush facilities and then head on down the road.
It was a somewhat motley crew there in the parking lot of the Omni. One team seemed to be warming up with a pre-ride criterium around the RVs and luxury buses. There is always ample confusion as some cyclists make last minute adjustments to their quest ionable mounts. Others are playing the pre-ride version of pin the tail on the donkey, affixing ride numbers to jerseys. I just strive to get a good luck pre-ride smooch from each female member of my cycling squad. The caloric reward from this activit y is small, but the effect on my moral is beyond description.
Lenae and I had knocked out three centuries together last year so she is my regular bike buddy. We were planning on hanging tight for the ride, along with Marlene. Erin was departing with us but was going to see what the day would hold for her. Kelly looked like she would have no trouble finding a fast group and then make them hurt to stay with her. Preston is a big boy and can take care of him self.
And away we go.
We rolled off close to 7:00, not waiting for any of the big packs to pass by first. The road beckoned, the sun was up, and I put it on my big chain ring.
Jean, you might remember the view from behind my rear wheel. Well, once a domestique, always a domestique. I soon became hoarse from cries of "On your left!" to the uncountable cyclists as we sped on past. Most years I charge pretty hard through this frying pan flat section of my state. My parents' house is on the route, but I didn't drop by this year as I had just visited them the week before when my sister, brother-in-law and nephew were in town. This year I just pulled the train, and tried to mak e sure that my gang stayed with me. Cyclists filled the roads, the lawmen held the intersections for us, and I kept on pulling. Whenever I noticed that I had pulled off the front a bit, I would pat my right cheek (the one in lycra) twice. That's dome stique for "I'm waiting. Jump back on this wheel and I'll show you a good time!" So I would greet people as we passed by, and wish them a good morning, commenting on sweet frame or fancy paint, interesting socks or smooth asphalt. When the gang would tire, they would send someone up to chat with me for a few minutes, hoping to distract me from my twin pursuits of velocity and distance.
I remember you telling me about Boston last year, when you ran well below your pace so that you stay with your friend. I admired and respected you for that, for I almost always ride on the edge of anaerobic doom until the cramps, glycogen debt and overa ll mal-de-cent force me to a more sustainable level of activity. I stayed with my friends this Saturday. When they stopped for a visit to the blue room (they're all blue to me, regardless of the exterior color!) I would try to not be too obsessively dr iven to get back out on the road, although I selfishly convinced Lenae not to stop at lunch for fear of losing much time, captured by bike gridlock in Belleville.
And we kept together, except for Kelly, who got gone really quickly.
I kept thinking about that quote from Goethe - "Be bold and great forces will come to your aid." Oh, Jean, we had about ten miles of the freshest virgin asphalt that anyone could imagine. It was like??butter! We had a screaming rear quarter wind. The skies were blue with some widely scattered deep gray clouds. The wildflowers painted the fields blue, or red and white, or speckled yellow, or all of the above. We shouted out in admiration and exclaim for the depth of color of some fields, and we kep t on riding through major crowds.
The roads were just inundated by cyclists. This was a BIG ride. The blissfully logistical winds of fate had allowed us start before the main group's departure. One full lane of the road was just full of bicycles. I maintained my hard charging line just on the far left side of the lane and frequently jumped briefly onto the other lane because of the density of the bicycles traffic. I knew that I had to ride somewhat prudently as I had at least four sweet souls (even Preston, because he sold me our Sa turn) on my wheel and it is a grave responsibility to be pulling the train.
And the glorious gestalt adventure of riding a bike with kindred spirits carried us down the road. I keep considering my earlier offer to ride with Marlene a bit beyond our day's scheduled end at the epic Fayette County Fair Grounds. The roads stay ful l of cyclists, the slight hills start rolling in and I pull the train.
When you're doing Boston, do the runners ever thin out so much that there is no other runner in your general vicinity? Do you ever feel like it's a solo event, like an urban training run?
Well, the lines of cyclists stayed with me the whole day, sometimes three and four wide. The additional start that cut 15 miles from the day kept the roads full ahead of us. This wasn't always so good, as crowded road conditions, questionable bike handl ing skills and the inattentiveness of fatigue caused many mishaps. Although I didn't count them (which might surprise you, knowing my fascination with statistical irrelevance), down riders, medics, ride marshals and ambulances broke up the choreography of the day and mixed in some overtones of caution, danger and concern.
And we kept on keeping on.
The rolling hills of Fayette and Austin counties rolled gently behind us as the day's miles kept adding on. It's a beautiful country, and the best way to see it is from the seat of a bicycle, out with friends, tail wind blowing, and multicolored fields from horizon to horizon.
Now, Jean, I know that you've told me that I really should try a double century sometime, but a mere 100 miles is such an obtainable goal. As the roads brought us closer to LaGrange, hot showers, cold beer and a nap, I kept considering my commitment to Marlene to "go past LaGrange and get a few more miles in". Preston had been playing tag with us for an hour. Erin had been lost to us for hours - up the road, not back. At the turn that headed to the fairgrounds and the day's end, Marlene and I turned out for more miles while Lenae wisely headed in. One hundred miles is plenty for one day. "Go get a beer. We'll see you in a bit."
The roads head slightly downhill and the tail wind kept blowing. The exhilarating joy of speed was slightly tempered by the thoughts of the return trip up hill into that wind. We had considered riding to Winchester, which would have given us about 130 miles for the day, but my motor started running ragged after a few miles and a gravel drive with shade beckoned me. Marlene was going to ride another mile or two up the road while I waited.
It was not the planning of this ride extension that was flawed, but the execution was lacking somewhat in that I did not properly evaluate water consumption per time for a given mileage. In other words, I started to run low on water as I began anticipat ing an hour's ride back to LaGrange, bucking a serious head wind and heading up a few miles of uphill slope.
But as Marlene came back up the road to my rest spot, I felt this power growing within me. It might have been the many ounces of hammer gel that I had knocked back while stopped, but I prefer to think that my motor had found its after-100 mojo. Marlene and I headed back to the Fayette county fairgrounds, with a brief stop to buy some really cold water and sit in air conditioning. My legs kept turning and Marlene kept sitting on my wheel. It certainly wouldn't be the longest day that she'll have this year, but I wanted to make sure that it was one of the more enjoyable.
Hope that Marlene is well and that she has a great time going cross country this July.
Now the fairgrounds is overrun with cyclists, tents, buses, cars, bags, bicycles, beer, burgers and every sort of family member, friend, supporter, sycophant and cycling psycho imaginable. I have never seen this place so crowded, nor have I ever arrived so late in the day. Our catered dinner at the David Weekley Homes tent was Tex-Mex and I was just a few calories short of a full tank. Marlene ran off to get a shower. Kelly had been in for hours. Erin was clean and looking forward to dinner. And L enae came over to share a beer with us. It was a good time. Lenae isn't always questing for the next beer, but we usually wind up with really, really cold ones when we do.
Riding for a team is the way to go at the MS150. David Weekley is such an incredibly generous supporter of the MS150. I would recommend being on this team to any one who wants to meet a rather fun and interesting bunch.
The jersey that Marlene was issued turned out to be monstrously large for her but she could wear mine from last year. She gave me hers for I had a worthy destination for it. I took it to Roloef. He's done with his liver transplant, chemo, radiation a nd many catastrophes associated with a surpressed immune system. We're going for a ride some morning soon.
But back to Camp Cyclisme, LaGrange, Texas, made famous by Marvin Zindler.
Jean, Sleep is good but I had slept very poorly the night before in the Omni. Add 120 miles of domestique service to that. Include the prospect of unimaginably long lines at the shower trucks, and I decided to have an army shower in the quiet, semi-se clusion of the space behind the tent. So, I was tired, fatigued, smelly and my stomach was still not recovered from the onslaught of bike food. There was nothing to do but have another beer and hope for the best. And eat some more boracho beans. I ju st love Pappasito's boracho beans.
Lenae has to go find her ride to her overnight accommodations, so Kelly and I decided to ramble around the fairgrounds, hoping to find a massage and walk out our legs. As we sauntered around the place, remarking on the wide range of tan lines and the un believable crowds, the immensity of the day soon overwhelmed us and we struggled to find our way back to our little camp and my second round up to the buffet line.
So the day started to come to an end for this cyclo-tourist. I wanted to arrange my sumptuous four star accommodations there on the ground in preparation for the night. Many members of the David Weekley Homes team had similar thoughts as snores and qui et talk has already started to dominate the quiet end of the tent by 8:30. The pancake line would begin forming at 4:45 and we hoped to be in it. I hoped that my somewhat irregular out-of-town sleep patterns might not inflict themselves upon me this ni ght, but I had a head lamp and a thick book just in case.
The fireworks at 9:30 were an unexpected pleasure. The MS society wanted the 20th anniversary ride to be something special and where as I have seen more spectacular displays, I had never before had the pleasure of viewing fireworks while standing next t o a line of port-a-cans.
Jean, if you've never seen 1,000 people lined up for pancakes at 4:45 a.m., then you must surely be leading a blessed life. The local Shriners, Lions, VFW or whatever do fine work of producing extraordinarily mediocre pancakes and I would think that one would have to join the Marines and be deployed in some God-forsaken hell hole to get coffee like this. But it's calories and the pancakes are hot and fresh, the OJ is not really from oranges, the milk is in those wonderful little square cartons and eve ryone there is going to ride their bicycles today.
Sunday's ride is one of the epic days in my part of the state. The roads are very quiet, lined with tall pines and the rock and roll is enough to hurt the flatlanders. Early in the day there is a 12 mile run through Bastrop and Buescher parks. This is the steepest section of roads around and it's a ripping good time.
But we have to get out of Fayette County Fairgrounds first. We got queued up at around 6:15 and were only a few thousand cyclists from the gate. Lenae called and was going to try to hook up with us. I was reasonably sure that she would find us, and wh en she called back to ask about our specific location she was just on the other side of a temporary fence. It was an incredible "Can you hear me now" moment.
And we were ready to go. The sun was coming up. The road beckoned. But we waited. Until about 7:20. It's a long time to wait, standing next to your bike, but we were in good company. And it gave me ample opportunity for pre-ride kisses from my cycl ing companions.
I generally like all the cyclists with whom I ride around here. They are nice, friendly, fun people. I no longer ride with jerks just because they will ride with me and we're going to try to hurt each other. I took a wonderful crew to ride the MS150 w ith me, but there are a whole lot of jerks out there who don't ride very safely, don't announce their passage at high speed and close proximity and just plain don't pay attention to the needs of the road.
I sort of hung with Kelly as I sort of rode away from Lenae, Marlene and Erin, but not Preston, who had spent the night with his family after an evening of watching baseball. Kelly and I sort of charged through the traffic. It was fun. I like to pick up the pace and the most wonderful little 12 mile ride awaits us just after a descent down Winchester hill where speeds in the mid 40's are often reached.
Jean, I know that a 12 mile road with steep and short variations in altitude through quiet park roads overhung with pine is nothing about which to write into Cycle Sport, but it's a pretty good time and I do like to charge up hills. At the pre-park rest stop, I tell Lenae and Marlene that I'll see them at lunch in Bastrop. It's really the most fun piece of road biking for a 100 mile radius of here. Most of the rock and roll climbs and falls quickly enough that you are almost always able to carry spee d most of the way up the other side. A couple of really good descents in my part of the world that last more than a minute are rare, which makes this ride that much sweeter for me.
But then it's over, and I charge into lunch.
A vast ocean of cyclists, food lines, potty lines and personalities fills the high school parking lot. Subways and soda await. Two Blue Bell ice cream sandwhiches are just sublime. Three is ecstasy. Kelly had a catered lunch down the road. Erin was lost to us. Lenae, Marlene and I are headed towards Austin.
Farm to Market 696.
It's just a wonderful piece of road when the wind blows from the south. The roads had cleared out enough that imminent doom no longer seems to dwell in those dangerous interactions between high speed pace lines and casual cycling crusaders. The ripping tail wind drives us away from the quiet county roads towards the busier and more populated areas closer to Austin. The ride finished this year at the state capitol. The finish was pretty overwhelming. We rode through the UT campus and got dropped in front of a finish line packed with thousands of fans, supporters, earlier finishers and just immense groups of loudness. The sounds of a buffeting wind blasting through a down town area, the inundating roar of diesel engines, the apocalyptic loud speake r announcements and a few too hours of sleep in the previous two nights - and a couple miles over a weekend - just pressed upon me and it soon became time to get the truck and head homesville, U.S.A.
Marlene lives five minutes away and showed up, showered and bearing a cooler. Kelly needed to get dropped off. Erin and Lenae are riding back to CS with me. And the weekend starts ending.
I'll go ride a century with Marlene sometime before she heads off. She's going to have a great time riding cross country.
I headed down to Austin a couple weeks ago for the Shiner BASH - Bike Austin San Antonio, Houston. Kelly brought these two BIG domestiques who just ripped my legs off. We stayed in a rotating pace line for the first 50 miles. It seemed like Kelly had every uphill run and every single hill hurt.
Lenae and I took the tandem out yesterday. She wouldn't be unagreeable to a century this summer on Big Red. We could make some pretty quick miles down the road. She even smiles when we get caught out in the rain.
Erin just got back from Europe. She swims every morning so I'll see her sometime and arrange to head out some Saturday morning.
Preston and I rode the other day. Preston is always good for a little early morning intensity.
I hope that Roelof can go out for an early ride with me this week. His bike is set up in the living room and he rides for a bit when he can.
I'm sure that I'll see a whole lot of the David Weekley Team riders at Katy this year. It's a splendid little flat, hot, humid century that starts about five minutes from my parents' house.
It was another weekend on the bike.
And you just finished another marathon as I finish this.
And I always thank the people who made this ride possible for me, my sponsors, supporters, or folks who always smile, ask about the kids, but haven't made it over recently to dinner (like Kathy), for I hear that it is often a marvelous event around here.
Hope all your miles are smooth. May the fair sky bring you as much joy as the dark rolling clouds. I hope your winds keep blowing when you finally turn out of them.