Sunday, September 29, 2013

Harbor to the Bay: Sept. 21, 2013

My day started at four in the morning with that disorienting feeling you get when your alarm goes off in pitch-darkness.  I turned on all the lights to try to convince myself that I was really away.  I got dressed.  I drank a cup of coffee.  At 4:30 my ride arrived and I found Bobby Mac, the blind man who was the whole reason I was doing this ride this year, in the passenger seat in street clothes.  He was too sick to ride.  He was coming in to see me off and help with mechanical support at the start line, but then I'd be on my own.

Shortly before 5, I settled down to breakfast in the basement of Trinity Church.
Bobby sat across from me, looking like Death.  We had coffee and oatmeal.  Various people rushed over to fuss over Bobby and nod vaguely at me.  I told myself the coffee was working

Outside, things picked up when we encountered the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.  By themselves, they'd be a reason to do this ride.  They drive around the course, cheering on riders at pit stops.  They're a big part of the quirky spirit that makes me want to be a part of this event year after year.  Another rider caught a photo of me taking a picture of Bobby with a pair of Sisters.
Excitement mounted as the start time approached.  I found a Quad teammate to ride with.  Speakers reminded us that this is an all-volunteer ride, so 100% of the nearly $400,000 raised so far goes to charity.  I love the start-line feeling of people coming together for a common purpose, that ramping-up of energy and spirit that makes something daunting feel completely possible.  It's all the excitement of racing without the fear--just the sense, as you listen to hundreds of pairs of hands applauding through padded bike gloves, that you're part of something momentous.

The ride itself went well, though I missed Bobby.  On a ride of this length (120 miles) you really can't speed up or slow down for other people; you just have to do your pace.  So by Pit One, I'd lost my teammate, though I found more Sisters:

I rode alone for a bit, then spent about 25 miles with a guy who was doing a good pace for me.  On long rides, it's good to find someone who can ride in front of you and block the wind.  Rob and I took turns and this got us to the lunch stop, where we parted ways.

The next fifteen-mile leg was a bit depressing, as I wondered if I now had to resign myself to sixty solo miles into a headwind.  My speed dropped a bit as my motivation flagged.  At the Mile 75 pit stop, instead of quickly refilling my bottles, grabbing some sugar, and hopping back on the bike, I collected an assortment of snacks and sat down on the grass.

Which was when I saw Jane, the teammate I'd lost around mile 10. I was pleased to have found her, and even more pleased to see that she'd dropped her group, who'd been slowing her down.  We did the last forty-five miles more or less together.  Jane's stomach was bothering her--this can happen on long rides--and she dropped back a few times, but always caught up, and we chatted cheerfully for much of the ride while keeping up what I thought was a respectable pace.

Near the end, we came to the dreaded Hills of Truro.  Everyone talks about these with hatred and despair, and every year I sort of sail up them.  I always wonder if this is because of the adrenaline and sugar high, and if the next time I'll struggle.  But this year I finally had to conclude that the hills just aren't that bad.  And they're so close to the end--only five miles or so--that even if they were it really wouldn't matter.

Jane and I crossed the finish line together.  I did 120 miles in 7.5 hours of ride time, for an average of 16.1 MPH.  "Would you like some food?" a volunteer inquired.  "Oh, I'm not hungry," I breezily responded.  "We have some fresh, hot pizza," he offered.  I was halfway through my second slice before it occurred to me that maybe I should take my helmet and gloves off.

A gorgeous day!  A wonderful time for a great cause!  And you can still donate; just click here.  Thanks so much for all of your support.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Fall Charity Rides

On September 21, for the fourth year, I will ride 125 miles from Boston to Provincetown with the Harbor to the Bay AIDS ride.  This benefits four local AIDS organizations, most of whom saw their funding cut last year.  The programs were, bizarrely, too effective; the government decided to divert money from Massachusetts to provide funding to states who were struggling.  So these organizations need your help more than ever.

This year, I am not fundraising for myself.  I am fortunate enough to be sponsored by the State Street Bank team so I can ride as a guide for Bobby Mac.  Bobby runs my weekly group ride and has trained hundreds, if not thousands, of charity riders for this ride, the PMC, the Seacoast Safari, MS, and other events.  He is also legally blind due to macular degeneration.  Bobby and I are a great team, completing several sub-six centuries this year, and I'm thrilled and honored to be his eyes on this ride.  Please support us by donating here.

On October 13 I will participate in The Dempsey Challenge, a 100-mile ride starting and ending in Lewiston, ME to raise money for the Patrick Dempsey Cancer Center.  I'm riding in memory of my aunt Jackie, a heart-transplant survivor who passed away from cancer this past April.  Last year, I did this ride in her honor and it was a tough day.  It was 45 degrees and raining steadily at the starting line, and the weather didn't improve much.  I toyed with backing out, but I'd committed to Jackie.  The spectators were amazing--picture small children in head-to-toe rain gear, standing by the side of the road clutching cardboard signs reading "GO DADDY GO"--but even beyond that I was heartened by Jackie's frequent text messages, encouraging me to keep going, enjoy the chicken broth at the pit stops, think about how well I was doing.  It was like she was there with me.  She was an incredibly courageous person and I miss her.  To support me on the Dempsey ride, please click here.

The Triple Metric: 204 miles in 20 hours!

This was not a charity ride.  It was a brevet, which is a long, continuous ride during which riders are supposed to provide most of their own support and check in at specific "controls" along the route.  While it's not a race, there is a time limit.  A lot of the people doing these brevets are training for Boston-Montreal-Boston or Paris-Brest-Paris.

So on June 1, just before 5 AM, my friend Brian and I set out to do our first triple metric, riding ten miles to the start/finish line at Hanscom Air Force Base armed with headlights, reflective gear, multiple GPS devices and extra batteries.  Six o'clock was the official start, and we headed to Harvard and from there to a place called Tweedo's in Ashburnham, where we were met by my dad, Al.  I'm not particularly interested in being a brevet rider--I'd just wanted to do a triple metric--so Al was riding support, carrying food, Gatorade, extra tubes and wheels and even an extra bike.  We needed him just short of the halfway point in Northfield, MA, when my Garmin told us to take a wrong turn and we wound up on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere in Orange, with a flat tire and two torn spare tubes.  I figured that would set us way behind the other riders, but when we got to the barbecue joint in Northfield they were all there, happily consuming piles of pulled pork.

But it was really hot--that was the problem.  Ninety-six degrees with intense sun.  I felt just fine in Northfield, but then the wheels started to come off the wagon.  The next 20 miles comprised what was supposed to be the "recovery" leg--short and flat and hopefully an opportunity to pick up some speed as we weren't thrilled with our 14.6 MPH average.  Instead, we climbed 1000 feet, mostly on shadeless main roads in a headwind during the hottest part of the day.  Shortly after the pit stop in Sunderland, MA, I began to flag, and by the tenth mile of that next leg it was obvious that I was hitting the wall.  I was tired. I was nauseous.  My speed dropped to a 12 MPH average and the distance to the next pit seemed to stretch out before me.  An impromptu stop for ginger ale helped only very marginally.  I began to doubt my ability to finish.

By the time we rolled into Petersham, MA around 7:30, at mile 146, I was beyond exhausted, and lay in the grass staring up at the sky while other riders milled around and chatted.  I wanted to get in the car.  I was dehydrated and had wracked up a huge calorie deficit, but could not imagine eating or drinking.  Bobby Mac, who runs my group ride, texted and said it wasn't worth it and I should get in the car.  My friend Kate texted and said she knew I could do it and I should get back on the bike.  Another rider from my group, Tsun, said the worst of the climbing was behind us and the rest of the route was "not bad."  I drank Pepto Bismol that Al had in his car and ate half a slice of bread.  Then, somehow, I got back on the bike.

What followed was not pretty.  The sun was setting and I could not hold a line, instead swerving all over the road.  I'd try to focus on one object only to see four of them rotating in front of me.  My lips were numb and I had a hard time forming words.  Further, Tsun had lied, and this leg had just about the worst climbs of the entire ride.  We were headed to Sterling Center, 26 miles away, and I kept telling myself that all I had to do was get there.  Anyone can do 26 miles.  But in the back of my head I knew that would not be the end.  Who drops out of a 200-mile ride with 30 miles to go?  Who does that?

10:00 found me slumped in the doorway of a convenience store in Sterling, sipping a bottle of plain water, actually shaking with cold despite the 85-degree heat.  Brian chatted with Al, but I could feel him watching me out of the corner of his eye. I forced down a packet of gu and fought the urge to get in the car and turn the heat on high.  Then, somehow, I was on my feat and headed toward the bike.  I heard Brian tell Al, "OK, we'll see you at Hanscom."  And I realized suddenly that we actually were going to Hanscom, that we were going home, that we were going to finish the ride.  The decision had been made.

And once I grasped that, once I really wrapped my head around it, I was FINE.  Energy returned and we got our speed up over fifteen.  My appetite also came back and I ate the rest of my food as we rode. We skimmed through Harvard in the pitch dark and onto roads I knew.  Brian's Garmin died and I navigated.  My headlight died and I rode alongside Brian to take advantage of his.  I felt like a force field was actually pulling us in.  Side by side, we zoomed up the final hill and then glided down to applause at the finish line.  It was 12:40 AM and we'd been in motion for 20 hours.  Half the field had dropped out, probably because of the heat.  We celebrated with grilled cheese and beer provided by Brian's wife, and then I went home to discover that I was eight and a half pounds lighter than I'd been when we left.  It took several days to recover, but this ride was the ultimate triumph.