Sue and I are just back from a nice weekend at the Mather Lodge atop Petit Jean Mountain. We had gone there so that I could challenge myself a bit by participating in the MS150 charity bicycle ride. I don't do many long rides (32 miles is typical) so I truly wondered whether I could survive two back-to-back days of 75-mile rides--each of which ended with the long climb back up to the top of Petit Jean Mountain.
I knew the first day would be OK. The main challenge was to control my competitive instincts. All charity rides actually end up being informal races, and I knew that if I tried to stay with the fastest riders all day, I might jeopardize my chances of even being able to start the second day. On the other hand . . . no guts, no glory. Four miles into the ride there was a fast and very scary descent of Petit Jean Mountain. My knuckles turned white, my stomach churned, and my rims heated up from riding the brakes, but I made it down and was still only a few hundred yards behind the first group of elite-racer wannabees. I cranked my speed into my personal red zone and clawed my way to the tail of the group, where I clung like a limpet for a few good miles.
Then that group of about thirty riders split with about fifteen riders going off the front. I sprinted around the slower bunch in front of me and tried once again to struggle up to the leaders. I gained some ground for awhile, but then my thighs started to burn up. I had just about resolved to give up and ride at my own pace when I saw two solid riders (a man and a woman) creeping up behind me. As they went around me, I sneaked into their slipstream and allowed them to pull me back up to the lead group. Shameful, I know, but that's bike racing. At least I thanked the guy who had pulled his two -- possibly unwelcome -- followers back into the race.
I stayed with the lead group for the first 40 miles, blazing along at over 20 mph the whole way. Some zipped straight past the lunch stop; the rest of us decided to pig out. When we got back on our bikes, there were about ten of us, and I found myself in the first real pace line of my "racing career." A pace line is a single-file group of riders. The lead rider breaks the wind and has to do about 20% more work than everyone else. Thus, if the lead rider goes at 23 mph (as was the case in this group), everyone else gets to rest up -- to some degree. While I was able to hang onto this group and did so until after I took my first "pull" at the front, I thought that I was burning through too much of my energy, even in the shelter of the group.
I dropped off the back and was immediately happy that I had done so. The problem with a pace line is that, to achieve the full aerodynamic benefit, your front tire needs to stay within a foot or so of the next person's rear tire. If your attention drifts for a moment and those two tires touch, the rear rider is going to hit the deck hard and probably bring down everyone behind. It's a nervous business and, on reflection, more than a little unsafe, but it's hard to pass up the benefits of riding in the group and it's nearly impossible to keep someone from drafting behind you anyway.
When in a pace line, all one does is watch the wheel in front. Once I was off by myself, I got to enjoy the view, which was really quite lovely. For about two miles the road passed along the shore of Nimrod Lake; elsewhere there were ever-changing views of the surrounding mountains. The whole route was rural, with very few cars. Just my kind of riding.
Eventually, I met up with a fellow named Steven and we cruised along, chatting pleasantly, for much of the rest of the ride. The final climb up Petit Jean Mountain was -- by Ozarks standards -- pretty easy, but it was long, and it came at the end of a 75-mile ride so I was very pleased to see the finish line. People cheered and clapped. I waved to the photographers. (Yes, the MS society has such an abundance of volunteers that there were even volunteer photographers.) I got off my bike and began to scarf down the free food and free beer. I took a pass on the free wine and cigar, but (with Sue's encouragement) I did avail myself of a free massage.
Then I began worrying about Day Two.
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