Audax Atlanta

2000 BMB - David Bundrick



As they say, sometimes you get the bear, sometimes the bear gets you. For me, this was the bear*s year! This sport can humble one pretty quickly.

One of my greatest concerns was to get left behind during the lead-out from Boston in the dark and having to navigate out by myself. Well, I flatted at mile 6 after hitting a raised grate or something. (After never having flatted on a brevet or 1,200 km that I can remember, I was to flat three times this year.) It took a long time to change the tire in the dark, and I lost some tools, too. Then, predictably, I missed a turn and did a few bonus miles. The sun found me back on course and making good time, and except for the nagging knowledge that I was dead last, it was becoming a good ride. It didn*t take too long to start passing the slower riders.

Some of the humbling process began in the mountains, specifically Middleburry Gap. I am on record as having said it wasn*t that bad a climb. In 1997, my low gear was 26f, 32r; in 1998 it was 28f, 32r; in Paris it was 28f, 28r; this year it was 30f, 28r. If those seem low, remember we*re talking about a recumbent. You will notice that this progression is in adverse ratio to the number of candles on my birthday cake. This year, I struggled up that climb and once even fell off my bike I was going so slow. In sum, I was not geared low enough for the combination of me, the bike, and the climbs, and I suffered somewhat as a result. When the sun went down the cold was also a shocker - I think almost everyone suffered from the cold. I discovered that I had lost my jacket, so I had only one windshell for 40 degree descents.

I got to Rouses Point on the Canadian border around 5:30 am Friday, a little over 2 hours behind my *schedule*. As the sun was coming up, I just rode on. Canadian authorities won*t allow arrows on the road so we had to rely entirely on the cue sheet, which I found confusing. I was about to give up when I ran into Si Little and Steve Fox, two recumbenters who knew where they were going, so I followed them to the controle. We got separated on the way back and I once again got lost in St Jean Sur Richelieu, but finally made back to the US of A. On the way back south, I started getting sick, probably from the cold night ride the night before. Having missed my nap the night before probably contributed to the mental confusion. I had fever and knew I needed to stop, as my mind wasn*t functioning and I couldn*t even follow the cue sheet (that was when the voices in my head started!). I lucked out and got a room a the Swiss Chalet and was convinced I was a DNF. However, there was no limo waiting the next morning to take me back to the finish, only a purple V-Rex, so I started riding. There is a long, hard hill leading out after Burlington, and I climbed that thing feeling sorry for myself and thinking it couldn*t get any worse. Shortly after clearing the crest and getting some speed up, it did - a bee flew into my helmet and stung me in the forehead, giving me something to take my mind off sore quads for the rest of the day. (Was the bee a friend of the bear?) That day took me, still ill, through the mountains and on to Battleboro at about 10:00 pm, where I was so cold I hauled out my space blanket and slept on the floor of the bag drop room. The next day was a rather pleasant Sunday century to the end, finishing somewhere around 4:15 pm. (The bear, I assume, had long since finished, showered, slept, ate, and was laughing at me from somewhere unseen.) This was by far my slowest time, but it felt just as good to finish as any other time, with the same feeling of accomplishment.

As with certain other activities, even the worst ride is good. This ride is a large challenge, physically and emotionally; a great thing to experience; and a wonderful opportunity to ride with interesting people and get to know old friends better. This is my fourth 1,200 km, and they all stand out in my memory. I wouldn*t take anything for having done them. For anyone who hasn*t done one, I suggest you read the inevitable tales of triumph and woe (as the case may be) of *les anciens,* but also try to imagine one of the greatest adventures you*re likely to have, riding a long, hard route with an elite group of riders (we are, you know, although an unpretentious lot), and some of the nicest people you*ll meet.