2012: In the blink of an eye

Bike Tuesday - Year Round

It’s our Bike Tuesday evening ride with the gang. We are an email group, riding together for over 5 years, every Tuesday, year round, on the rural roads north of Indy between Cicero and Sheridan. Sometimes just a handful, sometimes a dozen or more. Pat and Margaret, the couple who put the ride together, have over 30 years of riding together, and like Linda and I, rode before kids, with kids, and now are moving into empty-nester riding. I am not a weekly regular, but it is a ride I make when I can, once or twice a month.

Some of the group have similar experience, but most have only been riding at this level for only a few years, and many of them have been nurtured along in the riding through this ride, and the other rides we make as a group.

It is a social sport ride, with the focus on social, rather than anaerobic. But it is not slouch riding, almost every rider is on a fast road bike, and capable of riding 18 to 20 mph with the group for 40-50 miles. A few of the stronger riders, including me, who could ride faster if they wanted, will set a pace that all can ride, and everyone is used to watching out for each other.

Tonight we have 12 riders setting out. As we start, a few of us get separated by a string of cars while leaving the parking lot, so I am in a group of four a couple of hundred yards behind the first 6 riders. But this is not a problem on this ride, no frantic chase is needed, we will be a group again soon enough.

After work rides are always good for stress relief. An easy 25 or 30 miles (yes, a short ride) followed by a pizza and socializing. In one form or another, I have had a weekly ride like this for over 35 years, since the first time I joined a bike club and lived in a city or town.

Tonight I am on my touring bike, complete with rack, rack trunk and fenders. While loading the car for the drive to the start, I found a bad tire on my sport bike, so rather than rush a tire change, I changed bikes.  In the parking lot, I get a look, and one guy asks about my commuter. No, this is touring bike, with the same weight wheels as my sport bike, and not a commuter. He is much more worried about my keeping up with group than I am. Whatever, it is a bike I have 40,000 miles on, and still a joy to ride.

We are just a couple of miles from the start, and now one group. We are two abreast, no-one overly tight on anyone else, just relaxed and chatting. I am 5th in line on the outside (near centerline), the second bike a tandem, and just about to say hi to the rider beside me. I am a full wheel behind the next rider,  the last pair of riders are just about 3-4 yards behind us.

A yell from ahead draws my eyes go forward.

A flash of purple to the left ahead of me.

A full bike length ahead of me a red bike is still upright, but it is WRONG, falling.

Flashes of color and sound to my right.

The bike in front of me is down, a sprawled rider in the lane.

Yells behind me.


“I AM NOT GOING TO HIT HIM” screams a voice in my head, and a memory of another fall and PAIN years ago goes through my mind.

RIDERSWRECKAGERIGHT!!NOCARSGOLEFT!!

BANG!!

I come to a stop upright on the left side of the road, at a right angle to travel, front wheel in the grass, rear wheel on pavement. I have not even pulled even to the first down rider. A few yards ahead of him, on the right side, a pile of bikes and two riders are down, feet-to-feet along the side of road in the soft grassy ditch.

My bike has a flat tire. I am all right, No one else is down.

The wife of one the downed riders, riding ahead of the crash, throws down her bike and yells her husband’s names and comes running back.

Everyone is conscious.

Phones come out.

What intersections are we between? We have ridden this a 100 times, but no one is sure. A couple of us finally map it on our iPhones.

I stand in the center of the road and direct the light car traffic while other tend to riders, and we move all the bikes off the road.

Thank God there are no head injuries. Everyone is awake and talking.

It seems to take forever but soon we hear a siren, and a first responder arrives and starts talking to the 3 down riders. Thank God there are no head injuries. We have two ambulances on the way.

We sort out logistics of who can ride back to the parking lot, and Pat heads back for his van.

I need to look at my bike before the ride back, and start to change the tire. A 2” patch of tread and sidewall is gone down and through the cord; my rear tire is totaled, that was the bang.

In turning 90 degrees at speed and stopping, I have to have been sliding at a 45 degree angle, and then come back to upright, with out putting a foot down. Something I used to do as a kid on a 20” bike on gravel road into our drive way. That and drills from teaching cycling skills classes, and maybe just knowing the bike I was on.  And some luck.

90 Degree Turn and Stop

The tandem team hands me a spare tire, and I finish changing the tire as the ambulance begins to load up. Pat arrives with his van to begin picking up the 3 down bikes and the rider who tumbled but didn’t need an ambulance. With that done, the rest of us begin mounting up for the ride back to our cars at the start. Some are done for the night, some still want to unwind with a few miles, the intent of the ride to begin with. I call home, and then load up for the drive home.

Latter that night, Linda and I check in on one rider and his wife, a couple we know well, at the hospital ER near our home. He is very sore but will be home that night, with some painful rehab ahead, but is otherwise ok.

The next morning we learn that the other rider will need 24 stitches in his thigh.  The first rider that fell is okay, with some scraps and scratches, but we all know he is very rattled.

All in the blink of an eye.

2012: My Five Stages of RAIN

At the start of year, the RAIN Ride (Ride Across Indiana - In One Day) was not really on my radar, until some friends passed along an invitation to be part of the the Wishard Ride to Remember Team. Unfortunately, my schedule did not allow me to meet or train with most of this fascinating group of riders until the day of the ride. All things considered, I had a great ride and a lot of fun. However, it was day of riding that progressed through many emotional states as I crossed Indiana.

Denial: I am ready to ride 20 MPH all day.

Waiting for the start of the 2012 RAIN

I had been riding a lot more commuting miles this year, and a lot of fast 30 milers, and three centuries (all before mid-May). But I didn’t have any where near the combination of volume and speed to support RAIN in 8 to 9 hours of riding time. And the proof was right in my mileage logs - I was at 3,000 miles for the year before this RAIN; but that was almost a 1,000 miles less than than the same point in 2007, the last time I had ridden RAIN. All the visualization and experience in the world can’t make up for that. Next time (next year?) more speed work and volume in the months before.

Anger: Where is the perfect pace line?

I matched up well with a couple groups in the early miles, after I realized was too slow for the Wishard “B” group (my mental assignment, nothing official) I had hoped to ride with - and too fast, (and planning on shorter breaks) than the next group of riders from Wishard. I hadn’t been able train with any groups to know this ahead of time. So I was just falling in with ad-hoc, informal pace lines through the first 64 miles. That was easy to do before the 1,500 riders had truly spread out.

Some friends on a tandem said hi at 20 miles.

After leaving the Plainfield stop (64 miles), I couldn’t connect with another group. For one 15 minute stretch, I didn’t even see any other riders. I was finally overtaken by a group that was holding a nice 18-20 mph pace, and joined in for a couple of miles. But with a change of leaders after an intersection, the pace jumped to 23-24, and I couldn’t hang on without blowing up.

After that I twice slowly worked my way up to groups that thought I could ride with, only to miss them at stop lights. Much of the ride to lunch at 95 miles was like that.

Bargaining: Please give me a pace line

At the lunch stop, I was still between the B & C groups.  The B group was wrapping up lunch, and I was ahead of the C group, who rolled in for a long lunch stop as I finished eating. I know that I do better on short breaks and steady riding.

Okay, I will head out at an even pace, and just take the best group that comes along.

But it just didn’t happen. No one came up that I could hang on to. And I couldn’t catch anyone that was going my pace (obviously). Then another set of traffic lights and near misses with groups. At 110 miles, I pulled off into the shade on the side of the road, with the hope to recover for few minutes, mentally frustrated from more solo riding than I had planned, even though physically I was feeling fine. (And oddly enough having completed one my fastest total time century’s in a couple of years to this point.)

I stand there for a few minutes, waiting for something, and the the Wishard “C” group rides by. I hope back on my bike, and with a mile of easy chasing and a couple of intersections, I catch them, and I have a group to ride with after almost 40 miles of riding solo.

Depression: Can I finish this?

I relax with the group, and my mind starts working.

I wasn’t with this group, because I had been faster, and they caught me.
My average speed has been dropping the last 20 miles.
I am already over my planned off-the-bike time.
A leg cramp, then a foot cramp, and a twinge in my achilles.
Can I still finish?

Doubts like that can work on you, dragging you down more than a stiff headwind or a soft tire. I work to shake them off, and concentrate on getting my rhythm back, taking a few pulls after sitting in to recover. This group ranges in age from late teens to late fifties, with the same mix of experience. We come to the next stop where we all refill with water and ice, and then we leave the south Indy route to return to US-40.

Back on the highway, we are rolling along and I come off a pull and a new rider comes to the front as we start a long, gradual climb. I have just settled in 4-5 riders back when the speed starts picking up 19 - 20 - 21 mph. Gaps start opening, first a yard, than 2-3, leaving each rider alone against the wind on the grade. In a move that is either selfless or selfish, or both, I jump around to the front, and catch the new leader “You need to drop a gear or two - you are breaking up the group.” He looks over shoulder - “oh”, and brings his speed back down a bit, and we slowly regroup.

I drop back in to the re-grouping line, mulling second thoughts about being that much an “alpha” in a group I only know casually. But the group is now staying together at a good 17-18 mph pace, finishing the grade, so I let it go, and just roll along.

Acceptance: The final 30; you ride what you train for.

We all come into the final organized stop at the fire station in Dunreith, and I rack my bike with no illusions about a short stop. Even having been part of this group for the last 15 miles, I feel spent, and that I will be just turning the pedals over to finish. Sitting under a misting tent, with a popsicle and a sugary kids drink, I just stare at the ground. After a while, I look around, the bike racks are half empty, and I don’t see any Wishard jerseys. I just figure in that they missed me and rolled on. (I later find out they had all retreated into the fires station to cool off, and I left without them!)

Back on the road, I figure I will catch them shortly, and settle in for the last 30 miles. My doubts of finishing have faded. No epic ride, just the ride that I am trained for. I upshift a couple of times and it feels okay, I glance at my computer, and the speed-to-average indicator is now an up-arrow.

I am about an hour and a half behind where I wanted to be, though I am feeling the best I have in a 2-3 hours. No major aches, with just the edge of cramp in my legs, and as the miles keep adding up, my computer is still showing an up-arrow. I am having the mother of all second winds!

Riders are scattered all along US-40 in ones and twos, a few pass me, and I pass a few. Along the way are personal sags, sitting at the side of road, many of them cheering encouragement to everyone as they watch down the road for their riders.

The route enters the last side-road detour, and I start overtaking a few more riders. Soon I have a short line behind me, and that and the up-arrow continues lifting my spirits. I actually feel good! I recognize a rider from a morning group, and we exchange a “hi”. He joins the line for awhile, but he has trouble with the next up-grade. I come off the front to let a rider who was drafting take a pull, but he upshifts and pulls away as I coast back. Just holding my steady pace, I am alone again. Another mile, and I am back on US-40.

RAIN Finish - L to R Dr. Greg Gramelspacher, Eduardo Calderin, Tom Sharp, myself. 

At 156 miles, I pass the 5 Mile marker, and I know that I will be at 161 miles for the day. I still have my up-arrow, and my final goal, to finish under 11 hours. Now on the outskirts of Richmond, the farms give way businesses, with final challenge of stop lights and some rolling hills. 2 Miles. 1 Mile. I make the final turn into the campus, and come up on the finish line. At the end the the chute, I am handed my finishers medal, and then I am greeted and thanked by the Wishard team leaders and some friends. It has been a good ride.

Maybe five years will be too long to wait for the next time.

(This article was one of the first that let me to developing my #10weeksto100 series on training for endurance rides.)


I hope you will like The Ride So Far on Facebook. 

1975: Second DALMAC, the pre-tour

I rolled out of our drive way and down the short gravel road to M-124, my first time on a loaded bike, headed for my second DALMAC (the Dick Allen Lansing to Mackinaw bike tour). It was the end of my last high school summer. It had been a rocky year of changes since my first DALMAC the year before. I had finished high school, but would not be joining my friends in going off to college. Other than my restaurant job and some college classes later in the winter semester, I was really without a plan. My anchor through it all had been my ever expanding bicycling. And I had found a big way to make it even more so.

Tour ready, 1975
Chuck Harris mirror, Denim "helmet"

The plan had started when I learned my grandparent’s, who lived in Toledo, Ohio, would celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary the weekend I would be on DALMAC. So with my mom’s permission, I would miss the anniversary party, but would visit them the week before. And then some friends from Jackson, also riding DALMAC, decided that they would be riding back from St. Ignace after the ride. So instead of a 4 day trip and a bus ride home, my second DALMAC would have 7 additional days of biking, and I would be riding with my gear on the extra days.

I had a mix of touring gear that while not state of art, was fairly representative of what you could find in midwest bike shops on a teen’s budget. My rear rack was a simple Pletscher alloy rack, with a single pair of skinny stays, and a steel spring “rat-trap” clip for holding items on top. My nylon panniers were a one-piece arrangement of side bags and top compartment that draped over the rear rack, with my sleeping bag and pad then strapped on top. I had added a home-made bike flag holder to back of the rack for the required DALMAC flag.

With almost everything on the rear rack, any time I stood up to accelerate or climb, the load would sway and wobble with the 6 foot flag pole swaying in a ridiculous arc. I soon learned to ride at an even steady pace. Aside from my few pairs of cycling shorts, I was still carrying a heavy assortment of jeans and shorts, a sweat shirt, multiple t-shirts and underwear. Even without a “kitchen” and tent (I was sharing a tent with one of the Jackson riders), I was probably carrying 30 pounds of gear.

My biggest frustration was my handlebar-camera bag. I was riding with a 35mm SLR, and shooting color slide film. Over the past year, I had started with a square Bellweather bag that strapped directly to the handle bars, but it sagged and interfered with my hand on the tops. Then I found a steel bag support that slipped over the handle bars, and moved the bag away from my hands, but the bag still sagged. So I had added some sheets of plastic from a high school shop project to support the bag. It held my camera, maps and wallet, but it was a kludge solution.

My first days ride was 50 miles to Toledo and my grandparents. They were very excited to have me for the overnight, and treated me to a great dinner of home made pasta and bread. For good luck, they gave me a 1924 Liberty silver dollar (that I still have). And they also told me about my mom’s 3-day bicycle trip from Toledo to a youth hostel in southern Michigan while she was in college, something I had only heard vaguely about from Mom.

I left that morning for the ride back to Brooklyn, under cloudy skies, and after an hour or so, it started to rain. And rain, and rain. I was riding through the flat, tree-less farm land of southeastern Michigan, with few opportunities for shelter. I was rolling through long puddles of standing water when I realized I had passed a car that stopped because they couldn’t see in the driving rain. At that point, I pulled off the side of the road and just stood their until the the rain let up some, and then rode on. I arrived home with everything on my bike soaking wet, the water streaming from packs has I leaned my bike against the garage. I had to unpack and dry everything, and then began bagging everything in small plastic bags before re-packing - my first real touring lesson.

The next day my final pre-tour destination was Lansing, almost 70 miles from home, meeting my friends from Jackson almost half way. Two of our group were leaving after work, so after lunch at home, I set out to meet them about 5 PM. The four of us stopped for dinner at this brand new fast food place called Wendy’s, the first one to open in Jackson.

We left Jackson headed straight north, and were soon on the service roads along US-27. It was my first group riding with panniers, and we were all all comparing notes on how our bikes handled. It was good practice on the mild rolling hills between Leslie and Mason. Even here, we had to be especially careful on downhills, since with all that gear over the rear wheel, our bikes would have a tendency for the handlebars to start shimmy if we picked up to too much speed on a downhill.

Leaving Toledo, Ohio,
DALMAC bound.

We ended up finishing the last few miles into East Lansing by street lights, riding to a friend-of-friend’s house. We had thought about tenting in their backyard, but with the wet overnight forecast and early start, we all settled for sleeping bags on their living room floor. This was good decision, since it rained all that night.


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2012: Advice for the long rides

RAIN Finishers Medal

In a few weeks I will be riding RAIN for the second time. RAIN is the Ride Across INdiana (in one day), a bicycle ride from Terra Haute, Indiana (on the Illinois-Indiana border), to Richmond (on the Ohio-Indiana border). It follows the old National Road, US-40, the precursor to today’s I-70. Roughly 1,500 riders will attempt the ride, and you must finish by 9 PM - a 14-hour time limit.

RAIN’s 160-ish miles is kind of an odd distance, falling outside the more traditional half-century, metric century, century, double century. I little bit of me wouldn’t mind if it was a full double century - 200 miles, but that is just me, and most seem satisfied with just 160 or so miles.

(On the other hand, RAIN very close to the distance of a typical full Tour de France stage. That is something for you ponder as you arrive at the finish in Richmond; repeating the ride you just finished 10 to 15 times over 3 weeks, including 3-5 days with 10,000 feet of climbing in the mountains.)

With friends from 2007 RAIN training group.  I am second
from R, with my tandem stoker, Steve Lieby

Over the years, I have done three 200 mile days and one prior RAIN, and half dozen rides over 120 miles, and well over a hundered centuries. And based on that experience and observations, I offer the following advice I hope you find helpful.

After 90 miles, it’s all in your head. Endurance rides, are very much about mental attitude. If you have the ability to ride 75 to 90 miles comfortable and pain free, at a steady pace, while managing your nutrition and hydration, riding the additional miles just requires mental confidence.

Speed work helps your endurance. While there is value in building your mileage base, a training regimen based on just piling on more miles prior to an endurance event can leave you run down and at risk for injury. Once you have the base confidence to know you can complete 100 or more miles, start to include shorter workouts, at a faster tempo. This improves your base level of fitness with a much shorter recovery time. Short, fast workouts also let you compress your work out time, especially when you are time crunched. This is especially true when other events in your life make multiple 3-4 hour workouts per week a challenge.

(I used to hang out and ride with some of Indiana’s Ultra-Marathon cycling community. When one of the riders commented that I had the makings of good ultra-event rider, I replied without thinking “I have a life”. The riders reply? “Yeah, you do.”)

Improve your speed to reduce your event saddle time. When you improve your average speed, you reduce your time on the saddle - literally. Just going from a 14 mph average pace to a 16.5 MPH - from 8 hours to 6 hours for 100 miles, will cut your saddle time by 25%. A faster riding style will also tend to have you off the saddle more frequently - another win in the endurance-comfort challenge.

Minimize your off-the-bike time. Work on keeping your off-the-bike down to a minimum. Stop to pick-up water, energy drink and snacks, but move back to the bike and get back to your pace again. You want to avoid cooling down and then warming up again multiple times. Long breaks will also start to work on you mentally, as you watch the elapsed time increase, and you try to ride a faster pace. Snacking constantly, rather than a sag stop pig-out will also do a better job of keeping you fueled. (Set your bike computer to auto start stop, and watch your on the bike average speed - not your total average speed.)

It's all about the jersey.

Ride your ride, at your pace. Big event excitement makes if very tempting to start out fast, falling in with groups or pacelines riding faster than you have trained for. The simple test for this is the talk test. If you can’t speak a complete sentence without gasping, you may be riding at a pace you can’t sustain for the full event. (Sometimes conditions may dictate otherwise; i.e. balancing the effort to hang with slightly faster group to avoid fighting a headwind alone.)


Keep it fun. That is the final word. Savor the camaraderie, the scenery, the sense of accomplishment. A positive mental outlook can keep you going no matter what you are facing. Every ride is a unique experience of terrain, weather your physical condition, and even your age. Every time you push past that 100, 125, or more, you have accomplished something few ever consider trying. Enjoy it.

1974: Drafting a pair of Holdsworth's

At the start of DALMAC `74 in East Lansing, MI.

I have dozen’s of distinct memories from my first DALMAC in 1974. Not only was it the culmination of months of anticipation and preparation, it was a total immersion in so many first time cycling (and life) experiences for me. It was five consecutive days of riding and camping in all new territory, all on my own. And it was the first time I truly experienced the thrill of a drafting in a group of strong, steady riders.

I knew about drafting and pace lines from my reading, and had seen it in a few on the rides I had been on, but up to that time, I had really never had chance be in a pace line or really draft. I knew the benefits of drafting and working together, but almost all my riding had been alone, or on small group rides. And the steel wheels of my first bike didn’t exactly put me on a machine built for speed, especially when I was still riding in cut-offs jeans and tennis shoes.

DALMAC `74 Patch

But by the summer of `74, I had new bike with alloy wheels, along with cycling clothing and shoes. That summer had included over a thousand miles of riding, including my first century and double century.  So I certainly felt the part as DALMAC left Lansing, with 600 riders spreading out over miles of rural Michigan that sunny August morning. We rode in a party-like atmosphere, enjoying the day and the open road, until we finally reached the first overnight.

It was on the second day, somewhere north of Alma and about 25 miles out that my chance came. There was a little bit of overcast, and only light winds, and we were all riding in light jackets on a still cool morning, with about 10 miles left until the town indicated for lunch. I was riding alone when this couple, husband and wife, over took me at a slighter faster pace. The first thing I noticed was they were on a pair of matched road bikes by the builder Holdsworth. They were also wearing matching wool warm-up jackets, bright blue with “Holdsworth” embroidered in orange across the back. Their outfits were complete with wool shorts and cycling shoes. And they just looked like very good riders.

I was already a fan of English/UK made bikes and I am sure I said something like “nice bikes”, trying to make small talk. The man replied they had just gotten the bike this summer, directly from England, and DALMAC was their first tour with them. I wish I could remember more, or had asked more questions, but this was all happening at a pretty quick pace. He said I could draft them, I dropped in on their wheel behind the wife, and started to follow along, for 25 minutes of great fun.

Looking back, it was probably just about perfect conditions, a long gentle downhill grade, favorable winds, and no intersections. The riding was all about the wheel in front of me, maintaining an interval, and riding smoothly. Minutes turned into miles, and we smoothly moved around other riders, at a pace that kept them from jumping in.

I knew I was going fast, but it wasn’t until after almost 10-15 minutes that I saw the 5-mile marker for the next town. I had connected with them about 10 miles out, and now it was over halfway there. We riding at well over 20 miles per hour. (Remember, this is about 8 years before electronics for bikes). My cyclometer peg was pinging like crazy on my front wheel as the tenths of miles kept rolling by. I had never ridden with a group this fast for this long. It was almost like a count down, as the water tower first came into view, and then the first signs of more buildings. The husband never broke pace, and just kept up his fluid spin, his chrome toe clips and shiny black shoes flashing in the sun with each revolution, and the distinctive buzz of their high pressure sew-ups (of course) on pavement. And then we hit the city limits and eased up. We had just covered 8 miles in 24 minutes, 20 miles per hour, not even breathing hard.

All I need is a wheel to follow.

I said thanks for the ride, and shyly drifted back, not wanting to intrude anymore on their day. I soon lost them in the town, but remember seeing them again over the next couple of days, with just a nod of hello. As distinctive as a couple on a pair of Holdsworth bikes was, I don’t recall ever crossing paths with them again on any subsequent rides. I have often wondered how long they kept riding, and where they might be today. For the rest of the week, I had many more chances to draft and ride in pace lines, sometimes with 20 or more bikes finishing up the day’s miles in the late afternoons.

In my club riding over the next several years, I was fortunate to ride with some very good mentors, who taught me more of the courtesies of drafting and cooperative riding.  These were rides where everyone finishing together was always more important than finishing first, something that, unfortunately, seems to get easily lost on so many “training” rides today.

A good smooth pace line is still one of my favorite places to be. I don’t mind the long pulls and conceding a little bit of speed to keep a few extra riders along. From DALMAC, to TOSRV to STP and club rides, it is one of my favorite parts of riding. And every time is just another payback and thanks to the couple on the Holdsworth's who allowed an unknown, novice teen-ager along for the ride.

1979: First TOSRV

1979 TOSRV Patch

It was 9 PM Friday in Lansing, Michigan, and we still had a 5-hour drive to Columbus, Ohio. We had met at 8 pm to load bikes and be on our way. In 10 hours we were supposed to start riding. I had tried to get to TOSRV (Tour Of the Scioto River Valley) for over 7 years, and now it looked like it was all going to blow-up before we left Lansing.

I had moved to Lansing, (well Holt, actually) in the fall of 1978, and started a new job, working as a weekday prep cook. Turns out learning how to cook cream sauces and soups without scorching them had some value for my biking. After 4 years of working every weekend, I now had most weekends off. So I could finally leave town on Mother’s Day for TOSRV.

I also owned a pick-up truck, which made me among the most popular people to know in a college town. I had a “can you help me move” request almost every week. That is in part how, through a friend of a friend, that I fell in with group from the East Lansing Campus Bike Co-Op headed to TOSRV, but with no way to carry their bikes. I would haul the bikes for 1 friend and 5 strangers, along with my own bike, following a car load of riders to Columbus.

By 9 PM we had 7 bikes loaded in my truck. But only 4 of the riders; one more had to work late, and one had bagged it. We had no where to stash the “spare” bike, so it would spend the weekend in my truck, in Columbus. Finally, at 10, we decided I would drive on and the car would leave an hour later. We would meet in the parking lot under the Ohio Capitol building. Where we were sleeping would be worked out along the way, though it was agreed we would try to look for each other at the last rest area north of Columbus. This of course, is all pre cell phones, so once on the road, that was it.

At the time, I was still drinking Mountain Dew by the 6 pack, so I was okay driving most of the way. Riding shotgun with me was Paul, a friend of the friend, who I had met that night. He was a bike mechanic for the co-op and an extreme (okay, that term didn’t exist in `79) skate boarder who thought fun was a 60 mph mountain road descent, not luge style, but standing. We just chatted rides, riding and wrenching through the night. We did take a nap at the rest area, but decided to drive on without seeing the car.  Maybe 5 bikes would spend the weekend in my truck.

A pace line headed north to White Lake

We pulled into Columbus a little after dawn, and found the parking garage. We had been there about 15 minutes when the car load arrived. They had driven straight through, not having left Lansing until after midnight.

So I started my first TOSRV on just 2 hours sleep in the prior 24 hours. I picked up my packet, and I got my baggage tagged and on the truck assigned to my overnight in Portsmouth. But beyond that, the morning’s details blur. By 1979, there was no longer a mass start, but there was still a steady stream of riders heading south out of downtown Columbus. We dropped in and followed, and during the first 10 miles, the landscape transitioned from city to suburban and finally to rural farmland.

Without knowing it, I rode past first sag in Circleville that year, since the route stayed on 104 back then. So I was both sleep deprived and bonky by the end of the first 50 miles in Chillicothe. The lines for lunch were long, and smell from the paper mills made it almost impossible to eat. But after lunch came the best miles of the day, along Canal Road and the rolling hills in the narrowed valley. Spring flowers were in bloom, and we swooped under and over the paralleling rail road. In either direction, that stretch of road remains one of my Top Ten miles of riding anywhere.

In the hills between Waverly and Chilicothe

As we rolled along on that spring day after School House Hill, every rider saw the clouds on the horizon to the west, and the HAM radio caulk boards every 5 miles had said bad weather by Waverly at 75 miles. They nailed it. We came into the north side of town as the storm hit, and by the 100’s we stood with our bikes under store awnings for 20 minutes, until it passed and we could ride on. As we pedaled through the downtown, a 6” deep river of water flowed along the main street, through our wheels and splashed by our pedals. It was like my second DALMAC, just without the panniers trailing in the water.

Just south of Waverly, mud brown water was flowing over the dam spill way as we approached the White Lake food stop, a soggy mess after the 20 minute down pour. But 5 miles down the road, it hadn’t even rained. Pace lines of 20 to 30 bikes formed up for the last miles down the valley, until we finally saw the hills of Kentucky straight ahead as the Scioto flowed into the Ohio. We came at last to the two lane bridge over the river into Portsmouth, and found the busiest party store in Ohio that Saturday. It was selling out of both beer and ice cream sandwiches as the temps climbed into the high `70s.

I found the elementary school that was my overnight, at the top of a hill above the town, and then rode to the “official” CYO chicken dinner. Back at the school, our shower was a hose in a janitor’s closet (really). I finally went back and set up my tent on a baseball diamond, crawled in and started to pull my gear in. With that only half finished, with my head and shoulders outside the tent, I sprawled across my gear and closed my eyes for a moment. That was at 7:30, after 36 hours awake on a couple hours of sleep and riding a century. Almost 4 hours later I woke up still laying on my gear in the door of my tent, and finally pulled myself in and zipped up for the night.

With some new friends post ride in Columbus.

The next morning I was up early, breaking camp and loading my baggage on the truck. It was a mixed weather day, partly cloudy, breezy but not chilly. The pace lines formed again for the first miles up to Waverly, and then we worked our way through the rolling hills to Chillicothe and lunch. I did see Circleville that day, and then started the final 30 miles to Columbus.

It was on that final leg that I saw my coolest first TOSRV memory. A pace line of 3 guys came along, and the third rider had car battery and 10 foot whip radio antennae on the back of his bike. The rider in the middle was Charlie Pace, the TOSRV ride director. He was riding with a HAM radio escort to be kept in touch with the progress of the ride. They stopped at the last sag out, said some hellos and then rolled on, the antennae whipping back and forth as pulled out of the sag.

Finally back a the ride headquarters in downtown, I collected my gear and checked in, getting my first TOSRV certificate and gold seal for completing 210 miles. I had too wait for the rest of the bikes we had to haul, and wandered around the grounds of the capitol, having fun with my TOSRV t-shirt and some of the statues, before finally packing and driving back to Lansing. After seven years, I had finally ridden my first TOSRV, and while not the way I had planned it, was everything I expected. Looking back, while I had no idea how my life would change in the months ahead, I knew I was hooked, and would be coming back to Columbus for at least 1 more Mother’s Day weekend.

1974: First Century

My first century patch from 1974 - I was a real cyclist!

As I picked up more books and magazines about bicycling that first year or riding, it was not the racing that drew my attention. Growing up, anything with athletic competition had not gone well for me, and I shied away from it. Bicycle racing looked like just one more humiliation to add to the list. Bicycle travel and distance rides were what always captured my interest. And then I learned about this this ride called a century.

100 miles in under 12-hours was THE event in midwest club bicycling. I leaned that the “century” itself was then approaching 100 years in history. It went to the heart of “The Wheelmen” clubs of the 1880’s and 1890’s, where a century was ridden on 80-pound, single speed high wheelers over gravel and macadam roads. By the early 1970’s club century rides were being hosted all over the midwest, and you could find a ride or two every weekend from May 1 to the end of October, many offering just a century route.

After my first year of riding I was doing 50 and 60 miles rides on my own pretty regularly. I couldn’t get to one of the century rides, since I did not have my own car, and I would have to arrange to have someone cover my Saturday and Sunday morning paper route. And I was still just 16, and most rides required you ride with an adult.

In the spring of 1973, I learned the county American Cancer Society chapter was sponsoring a Bike-a-thon with 20 mile loops, starting from a church just south of Jackson. This was close enough that I could persuade Mom to drop me off and pick me up, and the start time allowed me to do this after my Saturday papers were delivered. And they didn’t have that pesky adult restriction stuff in any of the paperwork.

I was on my fourth year on my paper route, so I was well known and liked by my customers, giving me a captive audience for pledges. That first year I only discussed 3 or 4 loops, and over half my 75 customers pledged in 5 cents or a dime a mile. Riding 4 loops for 80 miles, I raised about $300. And I set my goal for next year.

I did a lot of riding that summer (1973), but never broke the 100 mile mark. The fall was my junior year in high school, and with running high school cross country, I didn’t look at any more rides. But in the spring of 1974, I picked the Cancer Society forms, and started collecting pledges, this time committing to 100 miles.

The reaction to 100 miles from my customers was really a surprise. They all knew I liked to bike. And I imagine that most of them had biked has kids themselves, but all on just around town on heavy coaster brake bikes. There were no “real” bicyclings in Brooklyn. And traveling a 100 miles is a big deal, a 2-hour car trip, a real distance. So most challenged me with “Can you really ride that far?”.  For a few, the pledges were almost a bet that I wouldn’t make it. I was getting pledges of nickels and dimes per mile. The local car dealer even pledged $ .25 a mile, grinning that he wondered if would ever have to pay the $25. When it was all done, with family, friends and customers, I was pledged up to $1.20 per mile.

The ride came up on the first weekend in June, and we drove up after finishing my paper route. One of my younger brothers and a friend also came along to ride a couple of loops. I started at 8:30, behind the lead group, and just began riding at a steady pace. There were sag stops of cookies, fruit and drinks every 5 miles, and most of the riders were only going for one or two loops. But I had a water bottle, and you can only eat so many cookies, and I began skipping the stops to save time. I was still on my first 30-pound steel bike, and riding in shorts and a basketball jersey, tennis shoes, and off course, no helmet.

Looping back to the start, they had sandwiches out by Noon for lunch. I only saw my brother and friend once or twice during the day. It works out that I was probably averaging 14 to 16 mph, finishing every loop in under 2 hours, riding mostly by myself. I saw a number of the “real” bicyclists from the Jackson Freewheelers on the ride; I did not know them yet, but they would become friends in the years and rides to follow.  I finished 80 miles by 3:30 and there were only a handful of riders still out as I started my fifth and final loop. I finished a little after 5, and then sat in the parking lot in the late afternoon shade, waiting for Mom, and casually wondering where my brother and his friend were. He showed shortly after I finished, with his own adventures, dog that a dog that him around the loop, and riding off the road and down a shallow embankment, with only few grass stains to show for his tumble.

I was none the worse for the wear, except for my sunburn. My back, shoulders and arms were blistered and peeling for the next week, and I never made that mistake again. I also spent the next week collecting my pledges while showing everyone my first 100 mile patch. I had hoped to have raised enough for the new bike prize, but $120 was only good enough for an honorable mention. Mom had a little bit of fit having to deal with the check for the cash from some of the pledges, since that much money was a big deal.

That was my last big ride on my first bike. I was signed up for my first long tour, DALMAC, at the end of summer, and was already shopping for a lighter bike. That first bike had served me well in two full summers of riding and my first century.  And in making the that magic 100 miles under the 12-hour limit,  I began to think of myself as a “real” bicyclist.