When I was peer-pressured into joining the "Other Team
Garmin" Bike MS crew, I was not warned of the possibility of encountering
hours upon hours of freezing-for-September rain, Kansas wheatfield-quality gale
force winds, and copious amounts of mandex creatively stretched to the very
last fiber as a result of its task to conceal bodies both unique and not meant
for the beach or even that cheapo plastic mini-pool designed for the front yard
and later the trash heap. On the other hand, and in my defense, I just didn't
know that these were questions to be asked of such an event.
Sure enough, just a year and a half after hopping on a bike
for the first time since college, I was pedaling towards the goal of my first
century ride. Plus twelve miles. Followed by 78 the subsequent day. That I
dared to put my awesome Fuji Sunfire 3.0 through such a challenge spoke volumes
towards the confidence I had in my two-wheeled transport, even if it was, by my
unofficial estimation, the only non-road/racing/fancy European brand of bike on
the road that day. In all, there were thousands of bikers who suited up for
Bike MS, 97% of which passed me at one point - most of them quite effortlessly.
And with almost 72 miles and over five hours of watching people pass me, I
consider myself quite the expert on bikes. And what people’s backsides look
like in mandex.
But the FS3.0 held strong. Before the first ten mile rest
stop, I teamed up with Tommy, a co-worker of mine who previously rode a hybrid
bike, like me, but was borrowing a friend's road bike for the event. Clipping
in for the first time ever on a new bike for a 112 mile ride when his previous
long ride was just 35 miles is the kind of crazy, audaciously bold effort that
I had to witness first hand. And, as previously mentioned, everyone else was
riding faster than me. I may not have been the slowest rider on the course, but
the odds of someone starting the race before me or at the same time and
finishing behind me were very, very slim. The odds of someone starting after me
and finishing after me were smaller than a sumo wrestler’s vertical leap. But I
wasn't racing; I was riding. I kept telling myself…
Tommy and I made a great riding duo. Conversation was never
forced – it flowed naturally when weather permitted, and retreated to the
dugout – not the locker room – in times of heavy downpour when vision was
confined to no greater than six inches beyond the front wheel, and the sound of
heavy drops pelting our bike helmets at full speed somehow felt like marbles
rolling from side to side in a box inside our heads. Neither of us had any
desire to prove our biking prowess to the other, as is so common in biking pairs
and groups. If we took turns leading, it was directly related to our inability
to maintain consistent speed along a particularly steep ascent or descent.
Still, the miles and hours went by faster having someone so entertaining to
talk to. And since both of us were rookies to the event – and for the most
part, cycling in general – we had a similar perspective and awe of Bike MS and
the thousands that participated in it.
We were saddened to hear that since we didn't reach the
half-way point fast enough, that we were ineligible to go the full 112 mile
route, which had been closed down to "extreme rain" and the resulting
poor road conditions. We were both in for the century, particularly so after we
found out about the closing. "They took our century away from us" was
a phrase that we uttered within earshot of unknown mandexers. At 50 miles, we
both felt good about being able to complete the 112 mile course, even if we
were beginning to feel the effects of half a day spent on two wheels. And while
there's no doubt that we could have done it, I'll admit that acceptance of the
72 mile route came quickly. So I ate my free boca burger, chips and cookies,
filled up my Gatorade and water bottles, peed for the fifth time that morning –
one for each rest stop, if you're counting; I have the bladder of a five year
old - zipped up my thoroughly soaked-through jacket, strapped on my oddly-clean
helmet, re-situated the cool new Oakley's that Melody bought me for the ride,
took a few deep breaths, slipped my New Balances into their respective pedal
straps and set out for 22 more miles.
With roughly 40 miles lopped off our final leg, and some
non-Clif bar food in my belly, I felt refreshed both physically and mentally.
The rain had subsided slightly as we made our way to Lawrence and the party on
the lawns of South Park. As we arrived in the heart of the city of my alma
mater, I was comforted by the greeting the dueling flags atop Fraser Hall
offered me, ironically one of the few buildings I biked to in my former life as
a KU student, when I was taking Spanish classes during my freshman year. I
think I left that bike chained to a rack outside my dorm, forgetting it when I
came home to work at Applebee's for the summer. I would never treat the FS3.0
in such an immature manner.
Tommy and I finished the 72 mile course in five hours eleven
minutes, or roughly the time it took Garmin's VP of Communications – my boss's
boss – to traverse the full 112 route. I had heard of his biking prowess, but
this was impressive. Even more impressive though, was his foresight to catch a
ride back that night – as did Tommy – as opposed to staying and camping out
during a torrential downpour so strong it turned South Park into South Pond. I
met up with some friends in town who were getting together the night after a
wedding – Chad, Amy, Kyle, Hef, Dan and his girlfriend Amy – and drank about
five beers too many to be riding 78 the next day. Later Jake, Rebecca and Ryan,
fellow marcomm co-workers, met us up as we toured Mass street in the only way
recommended: pub crawling one beer per bar. Red Lyon, Replay Lounge, Jazzhaus,
etc. I called it quits around midnight, a decision I would have reversed had I
known that a night full of rain and predicted thunderstorms the next day would lead
to the canceling of the return trip. As it was, I slept comfortably in Melody's
sweet orange Marmot tent, which in a rare moment of Einsteiniun genius I had
relocated under the giant Garmin canopy, safely away from the pounding rain and
river which ran directly through its former location. A wicked, early morning
driver barreling into a Bike MS tent woke me in an instant. At five in the
morning. It was, quite simply, the loudest sound to penetrate my eardrum in its
entire existence. And then I had to pee, which with a flowing muddy river and
heavy rain between me and the port-o-john, was not cool. I was up for the
day.
Not wanting to fight the masses or stack the FS3.0 Lincoln
Log style into the back of a moving van, I grabbed a coffee and newspaper, then
waited for my friends to shake off a presumed morning hangover and haul me back
to Garmin HQ, where Bike MS started ceremoniously and quietly ended. Removing a
wheel, a tasked so presumably easy, never should have resulted in me holding a
break pad and various nuts, yet there I was with parts from both the front and
back wheels in my hand, both wheels still firmly placed on the bike. Now I had
to go to the bike shop and try to save face…or admit I'm an idiot but give them
an autographed Team Garmin poster and hope that's what they remember about me.
I chose the latter, but no way they don't think I'm an idiot. Whatever. That's
why they're there: to fix my bike. So fix it and don't judge me. I now regret
giving them the poster.
Final thoughts: While I was disappointed to leave over 112
miles on the table – over two days – the ride was still successful. I beat my
previous long ride by 22 miles. I rode in rain for the first time. I didn’t
lose any digits due to frostbite. And I wore the same pair of mandex for two
days straight. So all in all, it was a pretty cool experience. Enough to
satisfy me this year, yet keep me hungry and wanting to do it again in about
364 days. Enough time to wash some mandex.
