After yesterday's killer 146 mile ride, it was nice to look forward to something more manageable. Not sure when a 109 mile ride fell into the "more manageable" column, and I'm pretty sure its not going to stay in that category once this trip is over.
At the end of yesterday's ride, I stopped to watch Wolfgang change his tenth flat, and we biked the last 8 miles to the hotel together. I really enjoyed that section of the long ride, and I vowed to be a better person and stop more often for disabled cyclists - if only to provide moral support. That vow would be put to the test today.
Throughout this trip, I have found the hardest part of the day to be that moment when I wheel my bike out of my motel room and let the door shut behind me with the motel key inside. There's no turning back at that point. No more warm comfortable room. No more hot shower. The soothing voice of Sponge Bob quickly becomes a distant memory as I head out on a long day on the bike. Today... it didn't feel so bad, even though it was the best hotel room I've had on the entire trip.
Mechanical repairs are usually in the evening. However, due to yesterday's long ride, they were put off until 7:15am this morning. There were several of us in need of some sort of work. I had a small ding in my wheel from my blowout and I needed to replace my rear tire. Mike quickly fixed the wheel, and I set about changing the tire and tube. Several other riders also had small problems. This trip is hard on equipment, bodies and minds.
We all started off from the hotel at the same time. There is something about this group - they really like starting the morning en mass. Like on several previous occassions, I took the initiative to get us moving and led the procession. About 100 yards from the hotel, I made a wrong turn. Do you know what is like to have 14 cyclists all yelling "Hey hardcore guy, you went the wrong way!" at you? Fortunately, they were all stuck at a red light, and I was able to quickly resume my forward position. I was determined to get this group going. Not sure why. Usually about the time their legs are just warming up, mine are blowing up.
I stayed out front for about 2 miles before the paceline caught me. I snuggle in the middle, and we're making good time. Russ is out front, and while he is perfectly capable of leaving us in his dust, he sets the most perfect pace. We're traveling along at about 22mph, and best of all, I'm able to breathe somewhat normally. With each successive rider taking his turn at the front, the pace continues at that perfect pace. Then it is Per's turn and I'm right behind him. Per can set a grueling pace, but he is content to continue at this wonderful pace. I can tell Rick is behind me; not because I looked, but because I know the sound of his rear cassette. In a paceline, the perfect place to be is that second spot. You get the draft. You can see upcoming obstacles. And most importantly, there is none of that yo-yo-ing that goes on as you move further back the paceline.
Finally, Per peels off and it is my turn. The first position is my second most favorite spot in the paceline. In this case, it is like you're the engineer on this large train. You set the pace, and I continued to keep it at that same speed - about 22mph. Faster on the descents. Slower on the climbs. This goes on for several miles until we hit a particularly steep section of road. Like I said, I know Rick is behind me and I think I know the pace he likes. Which is right below my anerobic threshold. Works for me. However, as we crest the hill, the fast riders decide that they've digested enough of their breakfast and it is time to crank. The paceline breaks apart. I drop off the back, and Rick manages to hang on. Oh, well. I don't mind biking solo. I know that there are several riders about a mile or so behind me.
The day is really nice. The air is crisp but warming. Sun is shining. And I'm in short-sleeves, which is the only way to bike. Up ahead, I see Rick by the side of the road changing a flat. And I remember my vow to give moral assistance. I stop. After a while, the other riders come along. Scott also stops. He really doesn't like to see anyone stranded. Rick changes tubes, and we head off as a three-man paceline. It works just fine. Until this horrible sound comes from Rick's bike. Turns out he's picked up a nail in his rear tire and it sounds like he's lost a spoke. I've never seen a flat like this one. I took a pic.
His second flat in about 20 miles. Ok... my vow to "aid" was being put to the test. Then came flat #3. And flat #4. Which actually came while he was changing flat #3. Seriously. If it had been me, I would have taken the hint and assumed that God wanted me in the van. But Rick just kept on smiling and changing flats.
Jay is riding sweep and stops as well. We assume that flat #4 is being taken care of (Mike and the van are there) and the two of us pace into lunch. Jay says "Pick a number". I say "21", and he sets a pace at 21mph. The next 12 miles fly by - he is the easiest person to pace behind. His upbeat attitude is constant and infectious. At stoplights, he strikes up conversations with guys on Harleys. I'm trying to avoid eye contact, and he's joking around with them and leaving them all in smiles.
It is at lunch that I discover why leaving my hotel room was so easy this morning. I still have the room key sticking out of my shorts (our shorts have no pockets).
Rick and Scott join us at lunch, and the three of us (sans Jay) set off for the final leg to the hotel. We're perhaps an hour behind the lead riders at this point. We hit a detour, ride down a road that is torn up to the bedrock, get lost and somehow manage to end up on the right road. It is hot. For the first time since California, it is hot hot. After about 15 miles of this, Scott makes an excellent decision and we pull into a convenience store to cool off.
Turns out that most of the prior riders had done that same thing because the exuberant redheaded Amazon behind the counter shouts out "Y'all are way behind." She knows where we're going (i.e., Savannah) and asks "Y'all doing it just for fun too?" We explain that yes, it is all for "fun" and we have been plagued by flats today. "Ain't no surprise", she says. "We have the worst roads here in Oklahoma". She is absolutely correct. Except for a few very golden sections, the roads in Oklahome have been terrible. The scenery and people have been great, but the pavement sucks. But I don't want to simply agree. I want to say something nice - but all that comes out is "Oh..... you....." I almost say "Yes, but you sure have a lot of roadkill." Thankfully, I bite my tongue just in time. However, that is true as well. Oklahoma has more roadkill per linear mile of highway than any other place I have ridden. It is mainly possum, armadillo and skunk - three species whose natural defenses fail miserably against a '92 Buick Roadmaster.
Finally, we leave the convenience store and head for the hotel, which is about 15 miles away. My natural shower instinct takes over, and I leave Rick and Scott in the dust. Not very nice. I will try harder next time. Somewhere around 10 miles from the hotel, we cross into Arkansas. But we are on very, very back roads and there is no sign. But there is a change in pavement. It is better pavement; however, it is about 50 years old. What do you expect on these back roads? Very soon, I'm into Fort Smith rush hour traffic (yes... there is such a thing) and bicycles are out of place. This is where the route sheet comes in handy, because there are about a dozen turns in the last 4 miles. At the end of a century ride, biking in heavy traffic, looking down at a route sheet precariously clipped to your handlebars and scanning ahead for road signs is tricky. But I make it to the hotel, which has ice water and cookies waiting.
Tomorrow is our rest day. Heck yeah! And Jay, who is from Arkansas, has arranged for three massage therapists to come to our hotel. Most of us have signed up for an hour. Randy has signed up for two hours because that's just the kinda guy he is - he's going to do twice as much as the next guy.
We have our evening meeting and Jay's mother is there to give him a lift to his house up in Fayetteville (about 60 miles north). I get to meet her and tell her how wonderful he has been to ride with. I then ask her if she has a tattoo on her arm that says "Son". (Don't tell my mother, but I think it makes for a wonderful Mother's Day gift).
For dinner, eight of us hit the Olive Garden and devour the "all you can eat" salad and bread sticks, before consuming big plates of pasta. There is not a crumb left on the table. Usually, eight people at a table is a little over-whelming for me.... but it is just perfect with this group. We then head to the Braum's ice cream parlor next door, where we get sundaes and (just to be safe) an ice cream cone to go. We found three other riders doing the same thing. Each one of us eats like a horse. I heard one rider say "I was 163 when I started this trip. I'm now 164." For the record, if I ever get down to 164, I'm going to have it printed on a tee shirt. The weight doesn't start dropping off until late next week. At least, that's what I've been told. It better.
I'm looking forward to my day off. Fort Smith is a really nice, clean town - the perfect place to unwind. 15 days of biking down; 10 to go. And we're in the South, y'all. I feel at home.
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