Wednesday, October 31, 2007

7-UP and it's over


The pre-dawn gathering of the Oak Park Bike Gang was a sight to behold. Resplendent with flashers and reflective clothing, our merry band of bikers gathered this morning for the "last ride" of the season. Though a few of us will persist in our commutes, today marks the final official group ride from Columbus Park, 6:30 AM MWF. Darkness at dawn, riding into the gathering light poses no difficulty, but riding home through the westside in the deepening dark is a menacing experience. Undaunted and illuminated though I may be, I too know my every days are numbered. The announcement from Paul that this would be the last ride prompted the whole crew to show up for the ride this morning-- all seven of us. Paul, Bob "ice cream", Cliff "the editor", Moe, Bill, Elissa and me, a.k.a. "the professor." Cliff was so inspired he composed a lovely poem, followed by Moe's limerick. Cliff's remark early on about our ride being the "Big Ugly" caused me to wax prosaic (see http://virtualbuck.blogspot.com/2007_06_01_archive.html "Beauty in the Big Ugly". Here is Cliff's poem, followed by Moe's.

pardon my erudition.
in answer to paul's pathetic sniveling
and Buck's intellectual poem
I am putting this plainly for the rest of us!

Ode to the "Big Ugly"

Screw the darkness
screw the light
I will be there
on my bike!
Guys and gals
in Jackson Park
head out with me
into the dark
Dodging bricks
and dodging glass
adding sore spots
to my ass

Paper vendors
hear Hakes' bell
cheer us on and
wish us well
Right on kostner
looking left
the skyline sometimes
takes our breath
Another vendor
says hello
where's the bellman?
he didn't show!

Thru the traffic
we're soon darting
as cars make way
like the Red Sea parting
Past the homeless
In dire straights
Strangely friendly,
when belled by Hakes
Professor Buck
now leaves the group
to find a cure,
in the chicken coop!

We cross the freeway
Paul's face reddens
a blonde throws kisses
as she beckons
Past Lou Mitchell's
Street Wise vendor
working hard
for legal tender
One more block
in half an hour
Bob says "Paul"
you'll need a shower!
Around the block
we take a right
and hardly ever
make a light.
We work our way
to Elston Ave
verbal sparring
With a cab!
Street is under
huge repair,
but no busses
travel there!
Hearing Moe's
sweet exhultations
on our way to
great libations
Starbucks beckons
in Logan Square
beware the preacher
he's always there!
after Starbucks
heading West
philosopher Moe
does not digress
He bequeathoth
his motley crew
a might morsel
on which to chew
before you know it
we're at George's
working through our
seven courses!

Our teeth are stained
and kinda bugly
from constant smiles
on the big ugly !
Cliff Carlson ©2007


to which Moe responded:
Boys and girls,

After reading the editor's ode I just have to join the last ride of
the year altho some of us old, retired geezers might continue at a
later hour.

A LIMERICK TO THE EDITOR
The editor did his poema
He'll never be the same-a
He hops on the spokes
And tells a few jokes
To forget that his tush is inflame-a.

As my little grandson would say, "See ya" tomorrow.

Moe

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Season's Leaving

"Ice cream! Ice cream!" the mellifluous voiced paper vendor yelled to me as I cut across Kostner navigating between the lined up cars waiting for the light to change at Harrison. Every morning when we ride by, en mass or me alone, he greats us with this special call, thanks to Bob Hakes' old time bike bell. I am sure he means "vanilla" ice cream as he counts "ice cream one, ice cream two, ice cream three..." as our group passes him by. Dappled light and gusty winds swirl the leaves from the trees. Seeing the west side sentinels on my daily ride makes the bike commute special. I am going to miss seeing them as the 4th season takes us off the streets. Bright sun and blue skies, cold crisp pre-dawn rides give way to warm afternoons. Such a glorious time of year! The last week of Day Light Savings time and then, the dark descent to winter gathers speed. Now equipped with a powerful headlight for my bike, and able to draw from my ample wardrobe the darkness and cold should not be a barrier to my 4th season commute. The need to ride, the joy of the revolutions, getting to work and working out at the same time, not spending $$ on gas or CTA fares, not polluting, not sitting in traffic or stuck waiting on the platform-- so many reasons to ride. Yet I face the inevitability of the 4th season, at some point it takes over and we all just hunker down. I am determined, this year to ride as much as a I can, my saddle bags stuffed with all my clothes-- should I leave a coat at work? shoes? gads, much to consider. For now I am in the moment being aware of the beauty of these days. November is just around the corner.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Apples, oranges, skin and bones

Now that the Denver marathon has become a warm and fuzzy memory for me, being 10 days in the past, I am still feeling the effects. It is painfully clear to me-- riding your bike 100 miles vs. running 26.2 is like comparing apples with oranges. Though the fabled century is oft equated with a marathon, in fact, it is more like a walk in the park by comparison. If you can live with a little peripheral neuropathy and some deep fatigue, the impact the bike ride has is minimal. But I am finding that this bag of bones I inhabit suffers mightily from the pounding the marathon gave me. Of course I could have been more well prepared and had I not run under adverse conditions I might not have been quite as beat up, but still, the invariant nature of repetitive foot strikes for so many hours exacts a toll.

One of the things I did to prepare for the marathon was lose weight (~25 pounds) over about a six month period. A remarkable outcome from this was that my skin is now baggy! As evidenced in the accompanying photo, my leg is just a loose skin wrapped rag! My chest is sunken, I feel skinny and still fat. It's kinda weird. I may have to lose another 25 pounds to lose the love handles, the last to go. I suppose I need to start hitting the weights, or something! My supreme challenge now that autumn is upon us, the leaves are on the lawn and the days are growing ever shorter. I am determined to commute as far into the winter as I can, but know my days are numbered. I have a new bright light and lots of flashers and reflective visible clothing, but the looming winter bodes ill for the daily ride. Perhaps I could take up spinning. And its not just the decrease in activity, but truly, its the holiday eating that is sure to do me in. no, no, no! say it ain't so. I weighed 204 Wednesday before the marathon. My lowest weight for the last ~30 years. Monday post marathon = 212. Today I weighed in at 205. my goal is to weigh 185 by the time I celebrate my 25th wedding anniversary on May 21st. Make it so!

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Denver Marathon-- rain, pain and da plane



City of my birth, site of my rebirth-- as a marathoner. 5280 feet, 40 degrees and pouring rain. What a fantastic experience, sacrificing two virgins to the marathon gods, and finding that my strategy to return to marathon was succesful. Despite this being my slowest marathon by nearly 45 minutes, this is the one I am the most proud of and the most excited about. 5:27:09, 12:29 pace. Crossing the finish line with Wendy and Herdis was the best experience I've ever had of the 20 other marathons and beyond I've done-- just barely eclipsing my 11:05 finish of the Ownens-Putnam 50 mile ultra with my running brother Saint Stephen. If only Steve would have been there to help with the sacrifice, this would have been perfect. Of course a nice sunny day (what one would expect in Denver where the sun shines >300 days a year) would have been nice too.

The journey to this marathon began one week to the day before my last marathon, Marine Corps Marathon, Oct 26, 2003. It was on that Sunday when Saint Stephen and I were in the last two blocks of my last tune up run before MCM when I took a step that sent shooting pain into my right knee. My knee swelled up and I could barely walk. But by week's end after icing it and taking copious amounts of ibuprofin, by the time we arrived in DC for the marathon, I was pretty much back to normal. The next time I ran was in the marathon, which I ran with my nephew Paul- his first. The marathon was OK for a hot humid day and it wasn't until the very end that my knee started hurting. Paul took off and stormed the Iowa Jima memorial while I just finished-- 4:45. All season long my leg hurt, not my knee as much as my outer lower leg. My base running decreased, I saved myself for the long runs. By the time the Lake Front 1/2 marathon rolled around in May, I was struggling through the pain. Steve noted I was dragging my foot when I ran. My last good run was in Vancouver Island, a seaside hilly run. The next Wednesday at track I took a few steps and felt like I had my legs cut out from under me. Greg Domantay's advice was to run through it, to run faster which was better for my form. I was relieved in a way because now both legs hurt equally. I bought new shoes, Adidas Stabils which were like bricks and felt very hard when I ran. Two more runs and I could barely walk. I went to see Dr. Nicola and came out on crutches. The MRI showed massive bone bruising and multiple stress fractures in the left knee due to the meniscus errosion in my right knee. Ah, that explained the pain-- bone on bone. Prognosis for more running was not good. Take up power walking was the suggestion. It took two years of therapy, strength training and Pilates, gradually building up to a graded run-walk program until I could actually run again. Steve nurtured me the whole time, but it was really not until 2006 that I started to actually do some running. I had to learn the difference between good pain and bad pain, and I stopped taking ibuprofin which evidently masked how much pain I was in. When I started to bike in earnest, commuting to UIC on my bike every day, and doing some distance riding, I started to feel so much better. So much so that I decided to run the 2006 Denver marathon to have a goal for my recovery. But Wendy and Edgar decided to get married on Oct 15, 2006, the date of the 1st annual Denver marathon, so instead of running Denver, Ryder and I enjoyed a lovely weekend in Santa Cruz at the wedding. I made a pact with Wendy at her wedding, that on her first anniversary we would run the Denver marathon together-- her first and in many ways, my fist marathon as well.

Wendy and I trained virtually together as she faced the challenge of ramping up her mileage while being an airline pilot. I had visions of her jogging up and down the concourse between flights. Just after Labor Day we exchanged stories of our longest run to date, each of us doing 18 or more miles. Amazing to me was that I was run/walking 8:2 and she was doing a 5:5 run/walk interval-- and we both did the 18 mile run at 11:00 pace. I had a sudden rush of confidence, I knew we could do this together, and both finish. She barely mentioned that she was doing her training with Herdis, so it was a real pleasure to discover I would have two companions to challenge the Denver marathon come Oct 14.

My sister Ginni who hosted my visit for the marathon, arranged a grand pre-marathon feast for all the extended family. Much to my delight my sister Traci and her husband Pat drove up from their new home in Lamar, and my big brother John and his wife Barb flew in from California to see their daughter Wendy do the marathon. I arrived in Denver a few days early, having arranged to get invited to give a seminar at my alma matter, the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center. I got to visit the beautiful new medical center campus at the old Fitzsimmons Naval Hospital (the site of my pre-induction physical in 1970, before I didn't go to the Naval Academy-- but that's another story). Being in Denver for 3 extra days helped me acclimate to the altitude just a bit more, though truly, the altitude was the least of my worries come race day. At the gala dinner Wendy, Herdis and I strategized about our race, figured out where to meet and negotiated the pace we would run at. I had tried 5:5 on my last long, 24 mile training run and felt that the walk interval was too short-- I was dialed in to 8:2. Wendy and Herdis did not want to run longer than 5, so we settled on 5:3 as our prescribed pace, and Wendy set her watch timer accordingly. I suggested we might run 10:3 for the first two miles and they agreed.

I woke at 5:30 on race day and my sister had coffee ready for me. I was out the door by 6 to catch the light-rail from far south Centennial, all the way to Union Station. The one thing I was not pscyhologically prepared for was rain. And as I stood, with three other runners waiting for the train, it was pouring rain. Pouring rain in Denver? not at all what I expected. Cool, sunny, breezy, maybe even snow-- but not rain. And it was cold too-- 40 degrees. On the train I adjusted my gear accordingly and was glad to have a hat and gloves with me. As soon as the shuttle delivered us from Union Station to the captial/civic center and start area, I went straight to the john, knowing how busy it was going to get. I found Herdis and Wendy on the steps of the capital, near the engraved sign "5280 feet". They were wearing garbage bags. Edgar and Allen, their husbands were there to collect their gear after they waited in long line for the johns, but we made it to the start in plenty of time. Off we went into the rain soaked cold Colorado morning.

The course wound its way around downtown through Lo-Do and past Coors Field. We ran comfortably, nearly forgetting to do the 3 minute interval. But by the time we go to mile 2, Wendy started her timer and I kept track of our splits. We averaged about 12 minute pace for the first 4-5 miles. We dutifully drank at each water station, but because it was so cold, we were not sweating, and kept having to stop to use the johns along the way. The crowd was sparse but supportive and the runners spread out nicely so we could run comfortably at our own pace. The course wound around City Park and the Zoo-- and I noted this was where I began my running career in the early 1980s when I was in grad school and lived near the park. So far it was pretty flat, just one gradual hill up 17th to the park. We stuck to our pace and the three of us were having a comfortable run despite the cold and rain. Once you get wet, it stays about the same. My bare arms were the only place I was cold. Our next destination was Cheesman park, the site of my wedding nearly 25 years ago. When Wendy, Herdis and I ran by the park buildling where we had our reception, we all three of us cheered and waved our arms in the air, giddy with t he fun we were having. We saw John, Barb, Edgar and Allen for the first time about then. As we rounded the parked, Edgar and Allen had run across the grass to cheer us one more time before we headed west and then south onto Downing Blvd. Still running comfortably, but probably drinking too much, on 13th street near Wax Tracks, in the Bohemian disrict, I had to visit and ally, but easily caught back up with my mates on their next walk. It was about then when it started to get more interesting.

There was a very long hill from mile 13 to 14 and I found for the first time that the altitude did affect me a bit on the up hills. I was begining to huff and puff while Herdis and Wendy seemed unaffected. We got to the 1/2 marathon split and it was 2:55, much slower than we expected. Wendy said that we had to pick up the pace and took off up the hill. We saw John and Barb again who waved and cheered for us as we trucked up the hill. I caught Wendy when she walked and we stuck together the whole rest of the race. Our pace dropped from nearly 13 min/mile to 11:30, to 10:00 when we rounded the hairpin and headed back down the big hill. Herdis caught us on the downhill and we stayed together until she started to run/walk at 3:2 intervals. Wendy and I stuck to 5:3, and were staying pretty close to 11:30 pace. As the course neared Washington park it go progressively hillier and I had to suck it up to hump up some of the short steep hills. We made it to Washington park about mile 17 and caught the 5:30 pace group. Marie was the pace group leader carrying a baloon. She had a troup of 6 or so sticking close to her. The were running a mile and walking a minute it seemed as we kept trading places. When we got to mile 18 I heard them chant, in unison "18-17-16-15-14...3-2-1--5:30 rocks!" it was fun and distracting running near them.

When we entered the park, we ran past a one spectator who said "its hard-core today folks, hard-core". Indeed, the crowd had thinned and the runners were very spread out by then. It was now in the high 30s and still raining! The park was very exposed and the wind was gusting. We passed 19 and then 20, Wendy and I keeping pace with Herdis a few hundred yards back. We hooted and hollered at the camera man at mile 20 and he said "too bad we don't have sound!" 20 miles is always a great place to get to in a marathon. As we rounded the park, Wendy started to interview me about my ovarian cancer research. It was a nice distraction telling her about how omega-3 therapy had big effects on the hens and she asked intelligent questions as we plodded along. She had just explained several technical things about flying airplanes, about stalling them, about the Collins point of no return and how these planes were so fast you could make the wings break off if you throttled them up too much. Wendy is a captain flying for Air West, as if Edgar. Allen and Herdis are both pilots, but first officers (co-pilots). I was incredibly in awe of their tremendous accomplishment. Wendy is 33 and Herdis is 31.

As we made our way out of the park at mile 22 I noticed it had stopped raining and the temperature was dropping. The water station volunteer offered a foil blanket to me and said it was getting colder-- about 35 now. The sky had lightened but an ominous dark bank of clouds appeared to be approaching from the north. We ran north on Logan, then took 1st to Santa Fe Blvd, and entered the art district. Not the run down barrio of my youth, but a rapidly gentrifying funky adobe bohemian district now. Not that I could appreciate the architecture. As we hit Santa Fe and traveled north, the wind started blowing hard and rain picked up. It was like needles on my naked arms. I could not even feel my legs. I struggled with the walk as my quads and hips kept tying up in the cold. Herdis caught us about mile 23 and we stayed together the rest of the way. Wendy was excited to be at 23-- she said that her fist run was 3 miles and she knew no matter what she could run that distance. I remembered all the marathons I had done and recalled just how tough those last two or three miles can be-- that is what the marathon experience is all about-- when you are completely fatigued, in pain even, yet muster the umph to drive to the finish. I reached into my marathoner's toolbox and summons up what I needed to finish. I ate two gel blocks and got very nauseated. I hurt, my legs were tight and I was struggling. My buddies carried me through, never waivering. We took our last walk interval as we rounded Santa Fe and could see the Civic Center. We rounded the corner onto Broadway running and Herdis gave the Queen's wave with both hands-- 26 miles and 0.2 for the Queen! Such great spirit. Two blocks to go. We rounded the final corner and I felt my calf cramp on me, I thought I was going to crumple to the ground. No! I pushed through and we finished, the three of us at the same time, cheering and yelling, hooting and hollering, elated, ecstatic and relieved. We hugged and danced about as we were reunited with our family and Bella the wonder dog. 5:27. wow! 1462 out of 1563 finishers. Nearly the back of the pack. I was so happy-- and still am, to have completed a marathon again. This was such a special experience shared with two such wonderful people.

Of course it took us so long to complete the run, that by the time I had returned to Ginni's house, took a shower, had a bite to eat, and drove my rental car to the airport-- I missed my flight! I was faced with the possibility of having to stay in the Denver airport overnight-- there was one last Frontier flight at 8:45. By some freak of luck I got the very last standby seat on that last flight and was back in Chicago by 1 AM. A very long day, but what a totally excellent experience. Wendy, Herdis and I decided that perhaps we would train for a triathlon together for next year-- some place warm and interesting.





Wednesday, October 3, 2007

The Heat, Apple Cider and Potato Soup



I am just six days away now from my return to the marathon. My 21st marathon will be run this Sunday in Denver, with my niece Wendy. Much anticipation, a bit of worry, and tremendous excitement. I have been preparing for this mentally for two years, and physically for six months. I've lost 25 pounds, and am nearly down to 204, my target weight-- the lowest I've weighed since I started running-- my lowest sustained weight since I was in my early 30's, and that is a while ago now. The P-diet, distance training, and commuting to work by bike have me more ready for this marathon than I've been for the past several. Despite my low weekly run mileage, I am counting on the cross over from biking to carry me to the finish. I have several quality long runs, including a 24 miler, and the 100 mile ride I did on Sept 30th, the details of which follow. My running brother got me here, and I sure wish that Saint Stephen and I were to be doing Denver together. We will, but just not in the same dimension. Though I trained through the heat-- brutal 95 degree high humidity run at Salt Creek in August, hot, humid long run at Water Fall Glen on Labor day, and then the 80 degree 24 miler on Sept 23. Over 100 miles in September running, and more than 300 miles on the bike. Yesterday Steve, Ryder, Mirbabel and I did a 6 mile matainence run, just one loop up to Lindbergh park (instead of 4 loops) and it was HOT. We thought about all our friends who were running the Chicago marathon, and even more of our friends from UIC and the Oak Park Runners Club who were manning the water station at mile 18. when I read the paper and saw the news, my heart went out to all you brave souls who did the run, and I felt very bad about everyone who had their day cut short when they pulled the plug on the marathon at 11:30. When we ran London in 1996 it was very hot and there was too little water and it was a very scary and dangerous day, but it was nothing like yesterday. Just our little 6 mile run was hot enough. It was a good thing not to have run Chicago also, since I was out late Saturday night, seeing Phil Lesh and Friends at the Riveria theater, uptown, in Chicago. Talk about hot-- it must have been 120 degrees in the show. My goodness, we thought we were going to die. One beautiful religious experience, perhaps heat induced, when they played Uncle John's Band, I closed my eyes and saw the music, and when I heard "come hear Uncle John' Band-- he's come to take his children home" I thought of how lovely it would be to be that child, to be led home, to be swept into the comforting arms of a great protector, to follow instead of having to lead. One of those Grateful Dead moments that keeps me coming back for more after all these years. Indeed, what a long strange trip its been.

And now, the story of Apple Cider Century, my best event in years.

After all the anticipation, finally Sunday Sept 30th, the day of the Apple Cider Century in Three Oaks, MI arrived. I was on the road by 5:30 and rolled into Three Oaks before 8 EDT. There were thousands of bicyclists getting ready to ride, there was quite a buzz in the air as we registered, got our course maps, and then ate breakfast at the fire station. I mounted my trusty steed and was on the road by 9:00 sharp. These events are very relaxed and riders start whenever they are ready and keep track of their own time if interested. I zeroed out my computer and headed out. Within the first half mile someones mirror fell off their beater mountain bike, nearly causing a big accident as everyone swerved to miss the road hazard. One of the truly charming things about the ACC is the wide range of participants, from grocery basket beaters to ultra-light aero tri-bikes, some 5000 riders in all. Of course only a few hundred do the whole 100. There are rides of 25, 50, 62 and 75 miles. All rides intersect at various points on the course, especially at the 2nd sag stop in New Buffalo-- 43 miles into the 100 mile course, half-way for the shorter rides. As I settled in to the first miles of the ride, I found myself in a pack, a club of riders, in matching jerseys, some 20 or more of them. I was swept along, though had to keep braking as they were going along at a liesurely 18 mph. I stayed right with them, keeping to the back of the pack, until we go to the first big hill about mile 8 and the whole group of them rode away from me like I was standing still. Yikes I thought, I really have not ridden on many hills, no way I can hang with this group, though drafting them would have made my ride easier. It was rather hectic though being in the peloton and not knowing anyone. Soon, though, I was alone in my team of one and felt no pressure or urgency, after all I still had 92 miles to go. It was a beautiful day. Starting out in the low 60s and not a cloud in the sky. There was a bit of wind, but so far it was just beautiful. I really enjoyed the bucolic scenery, the corn fields rolling hills small farms with wooden fence lines, cows and goats, pumpkin patches, weather worn farm houses and barns. I rolled happily along, probing my body to see how I felt. A little sore in the ilial psoas, a little tight in my knees, but pretty comfortable. After the first big hill the course was only mildly hilly for several miles and I warmed up nicely, got into my groove and pushed the pace. In a ver short while I made it to the first sag stop at mile 22. There were 100s of bikes there, a psychedelic display of jerseys and riders. The accepted norm, apparently, for these events is too tight of a jersey which reveals the ample guts of many of the men, average age probably 45 years old. I felt nearly svelte in my Grateful Dead bike jersey. I had my first taste of apple cider and a cup of potato soup, yum! a banana, some water and was back on the road in about 10 minutes. So far, so good. The ride to the next sag stop at 43 miles was uneventful, except for the terrible broken pavement in Union Pier. The nicer the homes, the worse the roads. Feeling good, just after 12 pm and it was nice to have a bit of lunch. A cup of potato soup to wash the PBJ sandwhich down. I ran into my old buddy Zeck and his riding mate Denis. They were doing the 50, had started at 7:30 and we converged at this sag stop at the same time. We enjoyed conversation and the food, filled up our waterbottles and they took off. I had to wait in the bathroom queue for a while when they took off.

Just a few miles into the next leg, there was a stretch of dirt road we had to cover, just about 1/2 mile at the most. As soon as I hit the pavement and rounded the corner, I saw Zeck and Denis standing by their bikes. I asked if they were ok, yes, just resting their butts. On ward! I knew from my experience last year, and also from what I'd heard about the course, that all the really big hills were between miles 60 to 80. I dreaded this part of course, fearful of my lack of preparation and hill training. I was a bit surprise when I hit the first really big, and very long hill at about mile 55. I tried to push the pace up the hill, stood on my peddles a bit, but realized it was way too big and long of a hill, so I geared way down and spun my way up and over. At first I was sucking air and my quads were burning, but I crossed the threshold, got my second wind and kept spinning. All I could muster was 6.6 mph. I didn't care, as the panic subsided and the fear was replaced by the surge I felt as I crested the top. I decided at that moment to hammer the downhills and hang on, do what I could to get up the hills. So many riders coast down the hills, or crest the top and stop to rest. I found that I could gear up all the way to the highest gear and crank at 35 mph going down, and catch my breath! My strategy carried me up and over the next several hill. When I got near the top of short steep hills I stood on my peddles and marched right over, keeping my speed and momentum. When I hit a hill that was too tall to climb standing up, I geared down and spun. My friend and bike guru Giulia's words resonated as I pushed on " rpms are your best friend". I kept shifting gears, a lot, to keep my cadence high. I also knew that I should stand and peddle frequently to take the heat and pressure off my butt and crotch. Other than feeling a bit winded and my fingers going numb, especially my right thumb, I felt great. I was greatly relieved, none the less to make it to the 67 mile sag stop at Scio Springs.

By now, only the long distance riders were on the course, and every one was hot and tired by this stop. I knew I needed to eat something, but I felt nauseas and had fierce cotton mouth. The water was from a well and tasted like metal, and the gatoraide was so sweet and thick, tropical fruit punch, it was difficult to get any fluids in. So I lay in the shade amongst the other riders, and relaxed. I stretched, cooled off and enjoyed listening to the conversations around me. Not to mention the enjoying the view of the very fit riders-- the polar gods a group of triathletes, who discussed their 16 mile run the day before, doing a 100 for training for Hawaii. wow. Awesome looking folks. And the family of six on the big ride. Someone asked the dad, who was wearing a skeleton jeresy, what is was like having 4 kids. He said when he only had two it was man-to-man defense, but once you had three kids, you had to shift to zone defense, so having four kids was really no harder than having three. Wow! finally, I had cooled off, ate a bit, drank some of the fluids, and rallied myself. I felt pretty good, but was worried-- after all the hills were the biggest between miles 60 and 80, and it was only 67 miles when we stopped.

I started out with a group of young riders who had some fine wool jersey's and a few tatooed and nose pierced fierce and fit looking women in their group. Immediately we hit a big hill and it was tough getting started. A guy rode past me and he was breathing rhythmically, loudly through his mouth, and it reminded me to breathe. The took off, and three or four of the guys stormed up that first big hill. I decided to pace myself and spun over the hill in a low gear. When I got to the top I saw the fast guys had pulled up to weight for their crew, so I took off. I hammered the downs and hung on for the ups. We got to a huge downhill and I topped out at 35 before hitting the next up. I felt great, very strong and was glad to be doing the ride, but not having to ride with a group. Soon the course turned south. We headed into Indiana and there was a very long straight road that was exposed and seemingly more up hill than down. Into a 20+ mph headwind. It was brutal. All I could do was hunker down and spin. I managed only a 10 mph but kept going. Soon I found myself catching solo riders, hanging with them for a few minutes, then riding by them. I kept hoping we would get to the farthest south point so we could turn back to the north-- wind at our backs! but when we did turn around, the course took us into the woods which blocked the wind. None the less, I was able to pick up the pace and rode for then next 5-6 miles averaging close to 30 mph. I was flying! I continued to pass other riders and really hammered, ups and downs, standing on my peddles over the rail road tracks. I was cranking out. I passed more and more riders, and not a single rider caught me. The longer I rode, the stronger I felt!

It was a brutal stretch-- 28 miles to the final sag stop. I rolled into the 92 mile stop and as I walked to the bathroom I had a huge emotional rush, total body goose flesh and tears in my eyes-- I knew right then I was having the ride of my life! I was nailing this sucker! I didn't stay long, only 8 miles to go. I had one last cup of potato soup and chatted briefly with a pair of fit looking guys on a tandem hauling a 2 year old in a burely. Wow, and they were cranking out too. I hit the road, with one big last hill to climb and I took off in a hurry, riding strong and fast. Half way up the big hill I dumped my chain. Argggg. It only took me a minute to roll it back onto the front gear cluster. The worst part was the grease, which I tried to wipe off on some dirt. Nothing else wrong, so I was back on the road and finished just behind the threesome. 5:00 pm sharp when I rolled into TOES. 8 hours out, 6:21 rolling, 16 mph average, top speed 35 mph, low speed 6.6 mph. I felt great, excited, happy and relieved! That spaghetti dinner was great! I saw the rest of the 67 mile sag stop crew at the end. The polar gods, the tattooers, the threesome. Such camaraderie and a sense of accomplishment. My last long training event before the Denver marathon. The test of my strategy, riding long to save my knees for the marathon. yeah baby. go, go, go!