Long day in the saddle.

Many (to the third power) years ago I did one of my first double centuries. For those who may not know, a century is a 100 mile bike ride. A double is two one hundred mile rides put back to back. 100 miles on Saturday and camp and then another 100 miles on Sunday. This was in the early years of TOSRV west. It was actually over 100 miles each day but we called it a double.

Anyway I was in 8th grade, and one of the youngest people on the tour. I had a lot of centuries under my belt at this point so in that respect it wasn't really a problem for me like it was for many people. But still, in those days, before power bars and bike computers a distance ride was a different sort of adventure than it is now. Now we measure our effort, and watch our heart rates and speeds, and get a pretty good idea of when we are pushing too hard or not hard enough. But back then it was more of an adventure into the unknown, at least for me.

When I rode alone I used to put quarters in my socks and would stop at pop machines along the way. I might take a candy bar and a sandwich and that was it. I had the habit of putting Coke in my water bottles. One of my water bottles was mounted on my handle bars above my front brake. One one of my summer centuries, Coke had been spilling out onto the front brake all morning. I came up to a very long high speed decent. In those days I had Mafac "Racer" brakes. Anyway I started bombing down this hill at about 45 or 50 mph I suspect. I decided to hit the brakes and my front brake locked up due to all of the sticky Coke on it. It sent me forward off of the saddle but I did not crash. It scared the heck out of me however. So I went to a creek and took the brake apart and cleaned all of the Coke off of it.

I've digressed. Sometimes I would bonk. Anyway this one year on TOSRV the first day was no problem. I had started out with two of my friends who were older and in highschool, Scott and Pinx (Mark). I dropped them when I saw a pace line forming. I just remember hearing one of them yell at me that it wasn't a race.

But I got myself into adult groups to draft in the paceline and it was such a pleasure. It was like the first time you did something that adults do that turned out to be really cool. Like sex perhaps, even though I hate that comparison. I was also happy to learn that I could climb better than most of the adults due to my light weight and all of the riding I had been doing while they were probably working or something. One of my future highschool teachers was on the ride and I passed him on a major climb and looked at him as I passed. He was sweating really bad and the look on my face must have pissed him off as he said something like "yeah right!" as I went by. Then I was worried that I would get him for a teacher the next year in highschool and he would get his revenge.

None the less the first day was a long day and I started to burn out in the last 20 miles. I was 13 or 14, ridden hard all day for 80 miles or more and now was looking at 20 more miles to finish. I just remember the mile markers going by. I was timing how long it took me to go from one mile marker to the next and then trying to calculate in my head how fast I was going. It drew on forever even though it was only about 2 pm. It was a very nice forest I was riding in and so that kind of made up for it. But that was a very long 20 miles. There were lots of false flats.

I finally made it to Swan lake Montana. There was a long haired and bearded "hippy" (and I do mean hippy in the true sense of the word) sitting on a chair next to a garbage can filled with ice and beer. I rode up to him and jokingly said, "do I get a beer?" He just looked at me and looked around and said "you deserve it." and handed me two cans of ice cold beer! I couldn't believe it! I drank the first one as I rode no hands down the road to where my cabin was supposed to be. By the time I got there I was drunk. I found my bunk and don't really remember drinking the second beer, but I did.

The next day I think I had my first hangover. I collected my bike from where I had stashed it and started back to Missoula. I found my friend Scott. I had made it to Swan lake the day before a couple of hours ahead of him and Pinx because I had gotten into such a fast group. (A word to the wise, Less time on the bike is good thing even though you might have to go faster. Extra time in the saddle going slow can be worse that less time going fast. Mark my words you young riders.)

I guess Pinx had to sleep in, but Scott was all gung ho and had something to prove. So Scott and I headed out together, he on his Gitane and me on my Stella. Both French bikes from the day and both from the Braxton Bike shop. Not very high end but still cool. The Gitane was a Grand Sport and my Stella was an SX7. I still have it. Sam Braxton made sure I would grow into it so it still fits me. It's a 56.

Anway Scott and I started to take turns pulling for eachother. But I could tell he was still pissed that I had taken off with the big group the day before. I was pulling on the front and Scott touched my rear wheel with his front wheel and went down. He fell hard. So I stopped and let him collect himself. Going down is the worst thing that can happen on a distance ride or race. It really putts you into hurt. And this happened in the first 10 miles or so.

Scott turned that pain into rage and just took off. He soon dropped me. So there I was alone. I just sat up and waited for another group to come along. And sure enough it did. I got into a very fast group of adults. I went all the way to the next food station taking my turn on the front and then waited and watched to get back into that same group as it left the food station. I went with them another ten miles or so and then I was pulling on the front and stayed there too long. When I went to the back I didn't have the strength to hook back into the slipstream and I got dropped. It was really hard to watch that group pedal away from me but I was dropped.

Then I was alone. For miles I was alone. No other groups came along. Then the wind came up. I finally made it to the turn where there was about 40 miles to go back to town. But directly into a 25-35 mph headwind and a very difficult climb. I was fighting another deadline. I had to be back in town to be in an orchestra concert that evening so my parents were going to drive out and meet me on the road if I couldn't make it back into town on time.

I was on the final climb and into that serious wind. I was completely drained, physically, mentally, and emotionally, I was pushing a very big gear up this climb and barely making forward motion. I was even in tears forcing myself into this wind. It was all I could do to stay on my bike and not just get off, sit down on the side of the road and cry. I made it over the climb and thought I might be able to finish. But here they came, my Mom and Dad. I got off of my bike and Dad put it in the trunk of the Buick.

I got into the back seat. I couldn't even talk. I just sat there drained. My thoughts starting to turn to the concert. We were going to play a cool little piece of classical first which I enjoyed, but then we were going to do this long ass contemporary piece that just sucked. "Did you have fun?" my mom asked. I didn't know how to respond. I just sat there in silence. They told me years later that they thought I was mad at them. I wasn't. It had just been a very long day in the saddle, and it was about to get longer.