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.