Day 27 Savannah GA (108 miles)

I couldn't let myself think of this day three weeks ago.  Savannah was just a dream at that point.  When I was in Fort Smith AR on the rest day, I didn't think of the end... just the next few days getting through Arkansas.  Even this morning, I was still wondering if something tragic would snatch me and send me back a few weeks.

I was running a little late this morning.  I was up late last night with the blog (two days worth) and didn't get my usual chores finished.  So they were waiting for me in the morning.  I arrived at breakfast at the hotel at 6:05am and the gang is all there.  They're almost giddy with excitement.

We leave in a few groups.  One group gets an early start; not a huge jump, but they want to get a headstart on some of the hammerheads.  The next group is the hammerheads.  I actually hang around for a few more minutes and wait for Jay.  We are the last to leave.  Vidalia is shrouded in fog.  Jay sets a really good pace - about 21mph.  It takes some time, but he reels in the hammerheads.  We're within striking distance when we catch a red light.  The chase continues, and we sneak into the pack. 

In NASCAR, two cars working in tandem (one behind the other) can go faster than any single car.  It is like that in cycling.  Except we have only two wheels.  And they're really skinny tires.  And we have only a 1/8th horsepower motor.  And that motor gets tired.  So the NASCAR analogy may have been a stretch, but we're in the South.  I like to think that by riding right on his wheel, I am helping Jay go faster.  The vacuum that would normally be formed behind him, and pull him back, is formed behind me instead. In reality... Jay is doing all the work.  But I like to pretend I'm helping.

Once we catch the pack, I work my way up just a bit to speak to Randy.  Randy is a terrible paceline rider.  He can't stand to be still.  He works his way to the front and back again by riding in the middle of the road.  He is pretty careful, but he'll be the first one hit if a car comes too close.  Riding outside the paceline like that isn't very efficient, but Randy is always burning excess energy - 'cause that's just the kinda guy he is.

We are cooking pretty good.  The first SAG is at about mile 30, in the town of Claxton - the fruitcake capitol of the world.  About 5 miles out, Russ starts to set a serious pace.  As we near town, he cranks it up to an insane speed.  We have a slight headwind, and Russ is out front punching a hole in the air at 25mph.  We're all hanging on for the ride.  For me, it isn't easy.  And I'm doing a fraction of the work that Russ is doing.  Finally, Russ peels off and, as he is dropping back, I tell him "thanks" for all the effort.  I glance over at him.  Sweat is pouring down in streams.  And for the first time in almost a month, I see a look of exhaustion and pain on his face.  It doesn't get easier,.... you just go faster.

We are a little more than a mile out, and Paul takes over the pace.  We're now entering Claxton and there is construction on the road.  However, Paul is also setting an incredible pace.  We can see the early group in the distance, and we're closing on them fast. The road is torn up in places, but Paul is still going full out.  With nine other riders right behind him.  Just as we nearly reach the early group, we get caught by a red light.  We can see the SAG about 500 yards up the road.  When the light turns green, I turn to Paul and say "race you".  We take off and it is a mad race to the SAG.  Flying through the streets of Claxton.  We're all wearing our ABB jerseys and must look like something from another planet.  Or at least, another country.  As we pull into the SAG, Brian asks, "What was that all about?"  And then he answers himself. "Because it is a lot of fun."

This is supposed to be a day where we take it easy and enjoy the sights.  It is a day for reflecting.  But this group is wound too tight for that.  At the SAG, we learn that we are going at a pace that will put us at the beach two hours ahead of schedule.  Friends and family will be meeting us for the wheel dipping ceremony, and they've been told it will be at 2pm - not noon.  We take longer than usual at that "first last SAG".  A few of the riders decide to take it down a notch and proceed at a more reasonable pace.  They leave the SAG with a vow to take it easy.  I hang back with the remaining riders, still buzzing from that wild ride into Claxton.

The ride into the lunch SAG (at mile 68) was at a near race pace.  The headwind was picking up, but we're still averaging over 20mph.  I took my turn pulling, and each pull nearly kills me.   To me, this is the perfect way to end this ride.  Going full out.  At a pace that I never thought I could keep, and probably will never achieve again.

We reach the lunch SAG and pull out all the chairs.  We definitely spend a long time at the SAG.  Afterwards, we again divide into two groups.  The rational group gets a slight headstart, with the remaining riders not too far behind.  We turn off the highway that we'd be traveling onto a road with less traffic.  Both groups meet up and we ride as one big team - almost in peleton fashion.  I'm riding on the outside with Randy when he says "let's break away".  I'm not particularly comfortable riding in this big group - there's still some traffic on the road and we need to get back to something more akin to a single file.  So I am happy to jump to the lead.  Nico takes it as a challenge and jumps.  Followed by Randy.  And Per.  And Wolfgang.  And so on.  We're back to break-neck speeds.  Nearly a month ago I was watching these guys fly by me - wishing that I could just go that fast.  Now I'm actually going that fast.  Who would have thouhgt it?  Not me.

Finally the speed gets just too grueling, and I find myself dropping back.  Once that gap opens, I know I'm doomed.  I resign myself to the fact that I will be biking into Savannah solo.  Or waiting for the other group.  Just then, Per passes me.  He had been dropped as well.  I hop on his wheel, and he is off.  He is on a mission to close the gap.  I'm two inches off his rear tire.  He later tells me that he didn't even know I was there.  Fifteen minutes later, we're back with the group.  We see that Reem has been dropped, and the pace "slows" to let her catch up. 

We're entereing the outskirts of Savannah.  We're coming through old neighborhoods with gorgeous brick homes.  Live oaks don't just line the streets - in some instances they are in the middle of the street.  I'm feeling great.... because I don't realize that Tybee Island (our final destination) is about 30 miles away.  Savannah (the city) is not right on the ocean... it is a good ways up the Savannah River.  I should know this stuff.  We have a gap on the riders behind us, and we stop for one last guilt-free McDonald's shake.

The causeway to Tybee is a final reminder of how difficult this crossing has been.  The road is narrow and traffic is very heavy.  There is a 20mph headwind coming at us.  The lead riders take it to a threshold pace.  Once again, the wind is coming from a slight angle - so there is no relief unless we were to ride in an echelon.  And that puts me out into the middle of the road.  No way.  I grind it out on what passes for a shoulder until I just can't hold on any longer.  I drop off and was disappointed.  A few minutes later, Wolfgang and David come up behind me and my spirits soar.  I hadn't realized that they had dropped off earlier.  The three of us ride into the staging area where we gather before the final assault on the beach. 

Soon all the riders are the staging point.  We have cold drinks and group photos are taken.  Then we line up and proceed to the end of Tybee Island two miles away.  As we turn down the road leading to the pier, people start to cheer.  Not the riders.  People on the side of the road.  The beach is practically packed.  Most are just there for the day... but they've been told that we are coming.  There is a news camera crew.  The walk across the sand is over a hundred yards.  We carry our bikes and everyone on the beach is yelling.  I wasn't expecting this.  We all dip our wheels, and half the riders jump into the ocean.  Wolfgang peels off his biking shorts.  Thank God he was wearing that Speedo.

I can't believe it is over.  I know I have to bike back the two miles to the staging area and the vans.  We have the option to bike back to the hotel in downtown Savannah.  It is about 30 miles away and it is not really an option that anyone takes seriously.  The staff say that no one has ever ridden back to the hotel.  We've ridden coast to coast... and that is enough.

FINAL NOTE - in a week or two, I will be back in Bermuda.  I will put my comments on the banquet in a posting at that point.  Along with my final thoughts on the ride.  I want a few days to digest it all.  I don't believe that is actually over.  I can't believe I did it.  I wouldn't believe it,... if I hadn't been there.  Thanks again for all the emails and words of encouragement.  Those kept me going when I wanted to stop.

Day 26 Vidalia GA (102 miles)

The perfect biking conditions in Georgia continue.  I know it is hot and the humidity is at 91% at 6am, but the roads are great, the traffic is minimal and the scenery gorgeous.  We set off mainly as one big group.  I actually take my turn at pulling shortly after we left the hotel, and end up dropping everyone.  It is a rookie mistake that I've made before.  I set a pace that is too high for this point in the day.  This group likes to warm up for the first five miles or so.  It has all the appearances of a solo breakaway, but we all know better.

Jay brings the rest of the group up to me and yells "How's it going Captian Protein?"  (that's a reference to last night's dinner).  I snuggle into the paceline.  I won't bore you with all the blow-by-blow details, but just let me say this.... that next 37 miles was probably the most enjoyable biking I've ever done.  I was biking through my favorite territory, with a great group of people and we were going extremely fast.  This is on relatively flat terrain and no wind (to speak of).

We arrive at the first SAG, and there are moon pies and RC Cola waiting for us.  I can't tell if the building next to us is a church or a house that used to be a church.  It has stained-glass windows and a steeple, but it looks more like a home. 

The lunch SAG is at mile 72.  Most of us are still in one big group, setting a grueling pace and taking turns at the front.  I've learned about my limitations on pulling at this point in the day and keep my pulls relatively short.  Reem barks orders at me when it looks like I'm about to fall off the back.  It keeps me in the pack (and scares me).  Two miles from the lunch SAG, I do fall off the back and Rick stays with me.  We arrive at the lunch just as the other riders are getting off of their bikes.

The lunch SAG is possibly the best SAG location ever.  We are under tall hardwoods on a deserted road.  I don't remember one car going past.  We have all the chairs out, and several of us suggest calling it a day.  We had biked extremely hard to get there and want to stay.  When we do leave, we don't do it as a group.  There was some confusion, and Reem was left behind.  I was pretty far behind as well, and I chase down the group to let them know that they forgot Reem.  Russ says he will wait for her.  I stop as well... but then remember that I was dropped right before lunch and I'm probably not in the best shape to stay with two professional cyclists when they get going.  So I mosy up the road a bit.

I'm biking by myself and doing OK.  Not killer fast by any means.  But I know that an express train will be coming by shortly, and I hope to catch a ride.  Sure enough... about 17 miles from the motel, I hear the train.  I hop on with Russ and Reem.  It is all I can do to stay attached.  We catch up with Wolfgang and Rick, and we have a five-person paceline coming into Vidalia.  As always seems to be the case, the motel is on the far side of town.  Vidalia is bigger than I expected.  As the motel comes in sight, I challenge Russ to a motel sprint.  He kills me to the motel entrance, but Reem screams past us to be the first at the door - nearly crashing into the lobby.  It is a ton of fun (How old am I?  Like 12?).

Once again, we're at the motel before 3pm.  A few of us hit the convenience store and KFC for a pre-dinner snack.  Dinner is at 5:30pm when 11 of us descend upon Ruby Tuesday's.  We spend about two hours there... no one in a hurry to leave.  Just re-living the days out west... which seem to be about four months ago.

We're almost at the end of our journey.  Mike had told us that we'd start to notice changes in our bodies by the third week.  And we have.  They're falling apart.  Actually, I feel a lot different; but I'm not sure it shows.  It is so hard to tell.  I imagine that I will lose weight after the ride ends (like last time).  I will be extremely disappointed if I've biked 120 miles per day for a month and don't lose any weight.

I can tell the difference in a few other riders.  The other day, Randy said to Reem, "Don't take this the wrong way, but... your butt is a lot tighter than when we started."  Seriously... how could she have possibly taken that the wrong way?  Randy also told me that my face looked a lot thinner.  However, he neglected to say anything about my butt.  Randy is always giving compliments - 'cause that's just the kinda guy he is.

Tomorrow is our final ride, and each one of us is so excited.  We've enjoyed the company, but we are exhausted.  Greg LeMond (3 time TdF winner) once said about cycling "It never gets easier, ... you just get faster."  And that sums up this group.  They keep pushing themselves and each other.  We rode today at a 5 hour century pace.  AFTER BIKING 2900 MILES IN 26 DAYS!  My shorts were covered in salt (I'm sure my jersey was as well, .... it just shows up better on black shorts).  I was soaked.  I had always thought that by this point in the ride that it would be easier.  But it wasn't easier.... we just went faster.

I often wonder what it would have been like to bike across the country with the group where several of the riders rented a car to jump ahead several days.  Or the group where they hopped a train to get ahead.  Would I have been the best rider in those groups?  At the end of the day, would they have all been talking about me?

"He did it again.  He rode the whole way."

"He wasn't in the van at all?  Are you sure?"

"Three of us were in the silver van and four were in the gold van... he wasn't there."

"How does he do it?"

"He's a machine, man.  A freakin' machine."

"I say we rent another car."

Hey... I can dream, can't I?  But I don't think it would have been near as much fun.  The riders on this trip have really forced me to up my game.  Every single one of them has offered support and words of encouragement.  I'm going to miss all of them.