201 – Young’s Bike Tour, Day 1

The day began early and strangely, with Katie and I both preparing for athletic events, but different ones. Katie was scheduled to run the Fairborn 5k, and I was loading up for the bike tour. While our events could not have been more different in nature, our trepidation was the same, and it was strange not to have one backing the other up with preparation and encouragement. Our nerves were apparent, as neither of us were exactly sure how we were going to do, and both felt just barely ready. We groused and grumbled our way through our morning routines, a little behind schedule and generally cranky.

Arriving at Young’s some 20 minutes after registration opened, the pinpricks of discontent and worry started to add up. We were behind schedule. I hadn’t had breakfast, hadn’t pooped (which I always prefer to do before wrapping myself in spandex for the day), hadn’t had time to make coffee, had forgotten my weather bag for my phone, hadn’t double-checked my tire pressures… But there was nothing for it. I unloaded my things from the car, gave Katie an unnecessarily terse kiss goodbye, and went to check in.

I should’ve relaxed, knowing everything works out how it was supposed to. There was coffee in the breakfast area, courtesy of Earth Fare, and it wasn’t half bad. Some kind soul did me the unwitting favor of bringing their contribution money in a Ziplock sandwich bag, which I repurposed for my phone. And the spread of breakfasty things, though it lacked my traditional PB&J on wheat, was certainly large enough for me to get what I needed, calorically.

After a little waiting and a lot of fidgeting, the time finally arrived for the ride to begin. For such a large undertaking, the start was without much ceremony. One of the organizers made some basic announcements, and then groups and clumps of riders formed and started heading out on the road. I made a last check of my supplies and rolled out myself, trying to position myself towards the back of the gaggle, the better to pick a group that would match my pace.

The prudent thing, of course, would have been to just take it easy, pick a pace line and stick with it. But I was far too rested, too excited, and too fueled up to be prudent. So instead I surged forward, moving through and past groups at a giddy pace, spurred on by the sight of yet more riders ahead of me. Soon I was spinning along happily at 22 mph, the tires singing against the pavement, the bike gleaming in the morning sun, and everything feeling perfect. At the first rest stop, I quickly topped off a bottle and stuffed a few grapes in my mouth, hurrying to get back on the road before too much sweat ran into my eyes.

I pressed on to the second stop, linking up along the way with a couple riders who were going just a tick slower than I wanted to, but close enough for me to hang with for the segment. But when we reached a couple short climbs just before the second stop outside of Urbana, I looked back and they were gone. Oh well. If it was to be a lonely ride, that was fine with me. It’s what I’m used to, anyway. I was surprised to see so many bikes already at the second rest area, considering the number I knew were behind me. They must’ve kept a pretty serious pace to have arrived so far ahead of me!

After a quick bottle refill, I headed out from the church parking lot alone, briefly heading the wrong way before doubling back and taking the correct road, north. The road rose slightly for a few miles, and when I crested and came out of the trees, the sky before me was menacing. Heavy, dark clouds, the kind that lack any outline or definition because of their immensity, darkened the road ahead. I chuckled to myself and pressed on, stopping only to take my phone out of its mount and put it in the ziplock bag in my jersey pocket.

For a moment, it seemed we might get a reprieve. Just as the air began to turn cool in front of the storm, the route doglegged east, turning us parallel to the front and towards friendlier skies. Maybe we’d run around the edge, and only get a little wet! But no, a mile or so up the road, we turned north again, and into the teeth of a surging, chilling wind. The rain began at around mile 37, at first just a spitting rain, but accompanied by arctic blasts from the storm’s upper levels. The combination felt good for a moment, but then became downright cold to me, having worked up a good sweat through the morning.

A few miles later, the rain began in earnest, lashing against my face and legs, pelting my arms with hundreds of little needles. I put my head down a little and just pedaled, trying to stay out of the streams of water forming in the tire tracks of the road. Oddly, my pace didn’t seem to slack much, except when the wind gusted in my face. The taste of salt and sunscreen filled my mouth and I surged on, refreshed by the cool rain and determined to make good time through the storm, the quicker to have it over with.

A ragtag group of riders slogged into the third stop with me, nonsensically propping up our bikes under an awning to keep them out of the rain. The storm had a sense of humor though, and stopped as soon as we did, allowing us to refill our bottles and eat in relative comfort. As soon as I strapped my helmet back on, however, the rain began again, distant thunder almost sounding like a chuckle at the storm’s clever trick. Several of the riders I left with responded with expletive gestures, grinning at the irony nonetheless.

We stopped-and-started our way through the western edge of Bellefontaine, getting strung out by stop signs and traffic lights before finding ourselves in farmland again, and in a proper deluge as well. The torrent seemed to slow and discourage the riders around me, but I had made my peace with it, and pressed ahead on my own, marveling at the bow wave coming from my skinny front tire, and the rooster tail of water spinning off the top.

The terrain to this point had been almost entirely flat to rolling, with a few little climbs here and there just to keep your interest. Now, with my head down to keep my face out of the rain, all I had was pedaling effort to tell me what the road was doing. Somewhere during this segment, I climbed “Jill’s Hill,” about which I had heard rumors earlier in the day regarding its difficulty. Between the storm, and the miles behind, and the miles to go, I can’t say that I even noticed it. Without the ability to look ahead and judge the upcoming rise, all I knew was that I downshifted and spun my legs harder for awhile, and then upshifted and relaxed for a longer while, peeking up just long enough to periodically check for road hazards.

At long last, I wound my way into Belle Center, the lunch stop for the day, and 61 miles into the ride. I was very much looking forward to taking a break from the rain, even if it meant soggily sitting in a picnic shelter for a few minutes while I wolfed down my food. That I ate quickly wasn’t because I was hungry. Truth be told, I had to make myself eat. But I knew I needed the calories, and I also knew that stopping for too long would allow my legs to tighten up, and that was the last thing I wanted, with another 40+ miles of riding left to do, on unknown roads, in unknown weather conditions.

I left the lunch stop, alone again, and took my time spinning back up to speed, letting my legs come back in and my lunch digest a bit. The roads from Bellefontaine had been more or less downhill, and that trend continued from Belle Center, which bothered me not at all. I wasn’t all that tired physically, but pressing on through the storm, and being alone for so long in unfamiliar territory were taking a compounding mental toll. I still hadn’t reached that point where I was sure I could do it, and it was simply too early to say, so the tail wind and descending elevation were just fine with me.

The scenery changed a bit in this segment, as the rolling hills gave way to flat, featureless, factory farmland, of the sort that feels less charming than industrial. The landscape reminded me of parts of Calvin’s Challenge, stripped bare of trees to block the wind and break up the horizon. Another side effect was the deprivation of any sensation of speed or progress, and the miles seemed to drag on. Without the visual cues I subconsciously use to divide distances into mentally digestible portions, I seemed almost to be pedaling through an interminable desert, despite being surrounded by soaring corn stalks and lush soybean fields.

On the bright side, the rain finally tapered off and stopped, the storm having burned itself out more than moved on. I zigzagged my way into McGuffey, a postage stamp of a town that played host to the next rest stop, and a very welcome one, at that. This was the decision point for a lot of riders, as it marked the place where you either pressed on to the finish in Ada, or signed up for the 19-mile “Power Loop” that extended the total distance to over 100 miles for the day. I overheard more than a few saying that they had intended to do the full century, but the weather we rode through for thirty or so miles had changed their minds.

But I was committed. I had signed up for the full ride online, I had told everyone who would listen that I was doing that distance, and most importantly, I had told the people who had contributed to my fundraising campaign that I was riding 180+ miles. So that’s what I was going to to. I signed the check in sheet, topped off my bottles yet again, and set out up the road, taking the right turn to start the loop.

Initially, I thought it might go quickly. The road ran to the east, putting the breeze at my back, and I fairly sailed along at a carefree 20 mph, my brain hardly believing what my legs were churning out, this far into the ride. But what goes downwind must come up, and as the route swung around to the south, and then west to rejoin the main route, I reaped the consequence of the easy speed on the eastward leg. Without any real power left in my legs to fight it, the wind reduced my pace to a paltry 12-13 mph, and the aforementioned landscape made it a miserable ten miles.

Any delusions I might’ve had about a strong, triumphant final segment to my first century ride evaporated on the power loop, and I limped into McGuffey again, taking advantage of the rest stop even though I was only seven miles from the end. I filled one bottle, stretched my legs and tried to rub some life back into my muscles, and then set out for the final time. North and west and north and west again, the final, short segment seemed interminable. My trip meter rolled over 100 miles, and I mentally checked the box next to “Road Century,” trying to celebrate the moment while urging my suffering legs to keep spinning. Finally, the town materialized in the distance, and soon I was on residential streets, peering ahead for any sign of the finish.

The finish itself was as abrupt and nonchalant as the start. I followed the arrows into the residential section of Ohio Northern University, through a parking lot and between a new-ish pair of three story dorms, and was greeted by applause from volunteers and a single photographer. There was a beer garden set up between the buildings and plenty of dead-looking people in various combinations of riding and casual gear, so I was clearly in the right place. But in my mind, having completed what I just had, I was expecting a clearer indication of the finish line. But it was good enough. 104 miles from where we started, day 1 of the Young’s Bike Tour was over, at least for the riding.

I checked in at the front desk, got my room key and a beer, and hauled my bike up the stairs to my room. Along the way, what seemed like a half gallon of water poured out of my frame from the hole in the rear triangle, where it had been trapped for the last several hours. After another beer, a shower and a quick massage, I was feeling nearly human again, and it was time for dinner.

This being a college campus, I grabbed a “walking around” beer from the cooler and started the half mile walk to the dining hall, only to get turned around half way there by a ranting and raving campus bike cop. Apparently, and unbeknownst to me or several other riders, the beer was to stay in the area between the dorms. There were no signs to tell us this, but apparently we had violated the bike cop’s sense of propriety, and after trying to confiscate my nearly-full beer (which I was having none of), she proceeded to follow me all the way back to the dorms, all the while demanding to know from passers-by who was in charge of the gathering.

I would have been embarrassed, had the bike cop not been doing such a fantastic job of embarrassing herself. I sauntered on, swigging my Great Lakes brew, smugly returning the knowing smirks of the other riders processing towards the dining hall. All the while, she was still ranting, going on and on about there being children(!) around, and we couldn’t be seen by them doing something so outrageous and disgraceful as drinking a beer (I’m paraphrasing)! When we got back to the dorms, I had finished my beer, so I dropped the bottle in the trash, grabbed a bottle of water instead, and reversed course once more to walk back to the dining hall. Meanwhile, the bike cop was bellowing at whomever was in earshot that the beer was, under no circumstances, to leave the area between the dorms, and demanding to know who was in charge of us rabble. She got only shrugs, chuckles and a few vague points in reply.

I was a touch late to dinner after all that, but as luck would have it, a single seat remained at a table with Earl, a friend from Facebook whom I had never met in person previously. Also at the table was his son Tim, an engineering student with whom I had unwittingly ridden early on in the day. Dinner was typical buffet fare, and we all ate heartily, trying to replace at least some of the 5,000 or so calories we burned during the day’s ride. Following the meal, representatives of each of the four charities benefiting from the ride spoke and gave presentations, and emotional thank yous to all of the riders and volunteers. It was a really moving experience, and cemented the purpose for all of us being there.

After dinner, a small group of us strolled over to the football stadium to catch the sunset. The day’s dramatic weather had created the perfect heavenly canvas for the sun to paint its masterpiece, and we were rewarded at the top of the stadium steps with a brilliant display of color and depth. A sublime end to a day of challenge, struggle and triumph.